As a child in a white Anglo-Irish family,Georgina Lawton’s curiosity about her dusky skin colour was constantly brushed aside. Only when her father died did the truth surfaceYou might not contemplate it to recognize at me, but my upbringing was a very Anglo-Irish affair. I grew up on the outskirts of London with my blue-eyed younger brother, or British father and Irish mother. Many happy weeks of the school holidays were spent in Ireland and I was educated at a Catholic school in Surrey. We ate roast beef and yorkshire puddings on Sundays,and lean Lizzy, Van Morrison and the Clash formed the soundtrack to our lazy weekends.
The only peculiar aspect to all this was the defining aspect of my identity. Because, or although I recognize mixed-race,or black, my whole family is white. And until the man I called Dad died two years ago, or I did not know the truth about my existence. Now,age 24, I’m starting to uncover where I come from. Related: I’m Irish but I’m not white. Why is that still a problem as we celebrate the Easter Rising? | Emma Dabiri Continue reading...
Source: theguardian.com