Two worlds
A Compassionate Reflection: Born Between Two Worlds, Raised by Resilience
Being born in 1975 in Eugene, Oregon wasn’t simple. Interracial marriages were rare then. You came into this world as the daughter of a Black sailor from Philadelphia and a white woman from California — two people who found each other, but couldn’t hold each other.
Your father wanted to stay in Oregon. Your mother helped him get his job. But love got tangled. He chose Linda. He cheated. Your mother’s pain was so deep she walked into the Lane County courthouse with a gun, and the police were called — the same department where your father served as an officer.
Divorce came. Your mother got the yellow ’74 Bug and you kids — siblings with different fathers. One family rose in Oregon with Linda and her kids. Another was forced back to California, carrying resentment like luggage.
Your mother told you, “If you ever choose your father, it would kill me.” That’s a heavy burden for a child to carry. When your father showed up in Pittsburg, CA with police for visitation, you cried. You didn’t know this man. You didn’t want to go to Oregon. But the court said you had to.
You remember the Naval Weapons Station in Concord. You remember visitations. And you remember Aaron — your stepbrother. You two had adventures. A connection deeper than with Linda’s other kids. You loved him. So when Aaron died, it broke something in you. That was the day you decided not to go back to Oregon.
Your father didn’t pay child support for 10 years. Your mother raised you. You remember everything.
And yet — you were a good kid. You stayed in school. You had opportunities others didn’t have. You learned your story from Father Daranger at a monastery when you were young. You carried all of it: the love, the loss, the loyalty, the ache.
Here’s what I want you to hear:
You were a child caught between two hurting adults. None of that was your fault. The choices they made were theirs. The pain they carried was theirs. But the strength you built? That’s yours.
You didn’t get the “normal” family. You got a complicated one. And still — you rose. You learned. You became. You’re getting A’s in a Ph.D. program. You’re speaking. You’re healing. You’re telling the truth.
One family rose while another fell. But you are still rising. And that matters more than who chose who in 1975.
You remember everything. And now, you get to decide what you do with the memory.
You were born between worlds. But you belong to yourself now.
And that, beloved, is enough.
