Often times I hear people speak of a majestical gray area, the shade other than black and white, the thing between this and that, the large undefined space between here and there. I believe that when I was conceived, I became a part of that gray area. I wonder sometimes when people look at me, what they think. I wonder if they have any ideas about who, or what I am. I've had people, randomly, come up and ask me, "What are you?" They don't ask who I am, where I'm from or what it is I'm doing, they bluntly ask "What are you?" I try to smile at them and state that it doesn't really matter, as long as they like me. The fact is, I never tried to define myself until people started asking me to. What I discovered, when I started looking, is that not only am I an American; I am America. I am the "melting pot." Only a true American, like myself, can say that my ancestors lived here before my ancestors drove them off the land when my ancestors came over to escape the religious tyranny of my ancestors and then my ancestors brought over and enslaved my ancestors.

I have always liked Neapolitan ice cream and banana splits because they remind me of myself. I was born to a white father and a mother who is mulatto with a little Choctaw Indian on her dad's side of the family. I've lived with my father my whole life. My parents divorced when I was four. I learned early in my life, that there is a difference between being black and being white. I learned that if I were white, people would assume I understood every word they said to me. I understood that if I were black, people would assume they needed to talk down to me and read out loud things I could obviously see, to make sure I understood.

To say that I grew up white might sound strange, but as long as I live with my father, I have white privilege. I've been black on several occasions. I was able to be Martin Luther King and Rosa Parks when my elementary school would take a day to celebrate black history month. I felt I deserved to be black on those days. I was the only child in my class who could claim to know what it was like to be black. I have been to the black people Safeway where they sell collard greens and black people hair products used in black people hair salons. I've gone to black people church where they dance and sing, wave hand-made Jesus fans, and call out amen and hallelujah when the spirit moves them. I was black the day a man called me nigger. I don't know what it's like to be a black person every day of my life, but I am not white. I could live in the wealthiest of neighborhoods and surround myself with only white people for the rest of my life, and I would never become white. I have seen both cultures, and I don't belong to either of them. Yes, I know the difference between black and white. The difference is me.

America is governed by certain ideals, but doesn't acknowledge a religion. Because there are so many people in America who believe in different religions, and because many people, including my ancestors, came over to escape religious tyranny, America refused to acknowledge a particular religion. Governed by ideals, our country has made politics its religion. I too am governed by my ideals and my politics. I make up my religion as I go; it's a conglomerate of many ideas I have come to appreciate in my life. I take what I want from religions I know of and I leave the things I don't like. I believe it's important to be a good person and to have certain values. I believe that my relationship with my higher power is too complex for anyone else to be a part of. All those religious people who believe that their way is the only way to salvation make me nervous. Unfortunately, many of these religious people have told me that my liberally-minded-comedic philosophies will send me straight to hell. I respect that they believe strongly in their faith, but I can't stand the idea that they are so sure that there is only one way of doing things; their way of doing things. I believe strongly that my way of doing things is the only way for me, but I would never tell someone else how to live.

People have been asking me what my gender is since I was born. Women have been trying to kick me out of public bathrooms ever since I could go on my own. I am not a frilly girl. I don't like pretty smells. I don't even like the word pretty. I grew up appreciating the smell of a hard day's work. I love to roll around in mud and wipe my face on my shirts. I scratch myself when I have an itch. I spit when I feel the need, and I usually dress for comfort and mobility--I always wear good shoes. Because I am a woman, and because our world is unsafe to live in, I must be able to run at all times. I have a sex. I am a female, which means I have breasts and a uterus. There are people who believe that there are certain ways in which people born with uteruses should present themselves to the world. I choose not to associate with those people. Like my struggle with white and black, I couldn't say I have a gender. I don't adhere to the rules of either the female gender, or the male gender. If there are only two genders, I lie somewhere in the middle. I am of the third gender. People of the third gender aren't ruled by gender roles. I choose to associate with people who aren't inhibited by gender roles, and who don't try to inhibit me with gender roles.

Recently, I was telling a friend that I haven't a culture other than my friends, and he told me that he always respected that about me. It was then that I understood that I am part of the culture of people who live in the gray area. The people you can't put into a category. Like placing a square peg into a round hole, I just don't fit. It's not that I don't have a culture. It's just that I have to look at different aspects of my self to find my culture.

Many people have the luxury of distinct physical differences and tangible sets of beliefs to base their identities on, like race, gender and religion. I have always had the difficulty of not belonging to an identifiable group. My culture lies within the ideas that I share with the people close to me, not within the physical similarities I share with people. There are people who don't mind living in a dichotomized world. These people are a threat to me. These people are my "others" because they try to place me in these bifurcated roles, and they don't fit.

I surround myself with people who live in the gray area and who like to break the molds. People in the gray area will always be the exception to the rule. In this way, I pose a threat to people who make the rules. As long as I don't fit into molds, people will try to make new molds and the old molds will be dropped along the way. I like that the people who stare at me don't know what to think of me. Every day, someone like me comes along and changes the way people look at other people and the way people look at America. If people can't see right away that I am the "melting pot," if they can't see that I am America, then they're going to have to change the way they think.

*Adrianne's essay, written for an assignment on "Who is the 'Other' to You" in her Freshman Inquiry class, Understanding Our Pluralistic Society, received The Portland State University 1998 John Redman Memorial Award, for writing completed as a regular course assignment by a freshman student.