Writings

“It is in their blood.”

“It’s in their blood. Oh, yes, I can see that you have it, my little friend.”

He patted me on the head. “It’s fascinating. Even as children, it’s in their blood to know what to do.”

The others, crossing the road, nodded in agreement, smiled and gawked at me. My classmates had already moved on, though I had called at them not to. When the traffic lights finally turned green, I ran all the way home, despite the heat.

“Mom, what have I got in my blood?” I burst out as soon as I entered my mother’s chilly study, where the ceiling fan barely camouflaged the cicadas high pitched chirping in the garden. Mom glanced up from her book.

“In your blood? Well, there are red blood cells that carry oxygen, and white blood cells that …”

“Yes”, I interrupted, “I already know that from school. I mean, do I have anything unusual in my blood that others don’t have? “

And then I told her about the strange man at the pedestrian crossing who ruffled my hair and made everyone laugh at me. She put down her book and pulled me into a hug.

“Don’t worry about that, my sweet. It’s just a prejudice that some people have. You know that you are adopted and that the children have sometimes teased you because you have a different skin colour and because your hair is different from theirs? “

“Yes, but does my blood also have another colour!?”

“No, of course not, your blood is red just like everyone else’s. You know that you don’t bleed green or purple when you get a cut, right? “

I had to admit that I did not and asked what then it meant. Because this was not the first time that I had heard that I have something in the blood. Like the day I got into a fight in the school dining hall. The others pushed their way into the queue as always. Only, this time, I had had enough and screamed and struggled to stop them. Afterwards, I was called to the headmaster’s office. I heard them whispering something about “she’s got it in her blood” and “that’s why she reacts so strongly”. I understood nothing when, instead of the telling-off I expected, I received only a gentle admonition to try to have a little more patience with my peers. I ached to understand.

Mom continued talking, and I concentrated.

“Some people think that just because you have a different skin colour, you are also different inside, with what you like and what you are good at. That is what saying that someone has it in the blood means, that some characteristics are believed to be inherited, and you can’t help but acting accordingly.”

I told my mom about the headmaster and the debacle in the dining hall, and while I did, I recalled another event.

“Once, when I was at Abebe’s house, her mother saw that I was picking up our toys after playing. She called me a good girl, and couldn’t Abebe be as good? But later, Abbe’s father took her aside and said that ‘they have it in the blood; she does not have to make an effort to tidy up as our Abebe must do. So, save the praise, it might rise to her head.’ I don’t think he knew I was listening.”

Mom sighed and got that tired look on her face, and I had a bad conscience about making her sad. She was grieved, I could see, even though she continued to talk to me with her very best mom-explaining voice.

“You know we have brought you up to follow family rules and keep a tidy room? You are very good at it. And that is not because you are white and come from Sweden, even though some believe that a person born in Sweden simply cannot help but be orderly, law-abiding and a little boring. You are our beloved girl, and you know their prejudices are wrong. Don’t worry about what they say. They are just ignorant. “

I made up my mind that the next day, I would cross the street even if the red light was on, just like my classmates, and never make my mother sad again.