Select A Box

Select A Box

They ask me to write down my race

And I think very seriously

And consider writing down the truth

And have my answer read

I am not a box.

I can’t be boxed.

I have history.

I am the ancestor of Cowboys and Outlaws,

The Younger Brothers share my blood.

You can follow the family tree back to Andrew Jackson,

Best known for his role as US President.

But my Papa worked for the GBI,

He helped Georgia towns fix their “Black Problem”.

I am a blend of nationalities.

The red hair gives me away as Irish,

My ancestors were refugees from the Potato famine.

Emily means Hard working

It is French/ German/ Latin/ Teutonic.

Who knows where that came from?

Wilcox is English and means son of Will.

We have a cross stitch of my family’s crest.

But Baird is a strong Scottish name,

Last year I picked up a scarf with the Baird tartan

I wear it with pride every winter.

I come from many places.

Dad’s parents are strong southern Baptists from Georgia,

And my father followed closely in their footsteps,

Though he married a woman, who was a Marine, A catholic, and a Yankee.

Mom didn’t know her mother’s first name.

Grandma Baird was an alcoholic.

Mom was 1 of 7 children.

She was in and out of foster care, and other homes,

From Kansas to Minnesota,

Depending on how life was going.

I moved around a few times as a child:

2 homes in Georgia, 2 in North Carolina, and then Tennessee.

I am an individual.

I love Sushi and Hot wings equally.

I am intrigued by history,

And I really only enjoy fiction.

I am passionate about travel,

And trying brand new things.

I strive to be independent,

And to have a life of my own.

“So what box do I fit in?

Is there a box that encompasses every facet of my being.

If you insist on ‘boxing’ me, listen to my story.”

I want to say.

But I stop

And simply write down:

White