Ancestry Dot Com

“That’s not exactly how it happened,” Shannon said, waving her arms. “But you’ll agree with me that…”
“Cut the shit,” I said. “You told my daughter to leave the prom. Why?”
Shannon blew out her lips. “It’s like this: We didn’t want black kids here.”
“So, I’m not wrong to call you a racist. Right?”
“Wait, what? Me? Of course, I’m not a racist,” Shannon said. “My friend has a friend who has a friend who is best friends with a Black man. So, I can’t be racist.”
“That’s not how it works,” I said. “That white kid is her boyfriend.”
“The point is, she wasn’t kicked out. She was just asked to leave.”
“Asked to leave her high school prom because she’s black?”
“Look, I don’t like race-mixing.”
“Then you’d better check ancestry dot com, bitch. Because I’m sure, you’re no purebred white woman. Bet you have some African in you.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“You heard me.”
“You know what, fine,” Shannon said. “I’ll check it out and prove I’m a white woman through and through.”
THREE WEEKS LATER. “Get the result?” I said.
Shannon asked me to sit with her to split a bottle of wine. I wasn’t in the mood for wine. I did want to see Shannon whine, though.
“It’s like this…”
“Well, spit it out,” I said. “What’d you find out.”
“So, I am a quarter African.”
“Still against ‘race mixing’?”
“We’re all mixed.” Shannon dropped her shoulders in defeat. “I guess I was wrong to kick your … or ask your daughter to leave the prom.”
“Yes,” I said. “You were very wrong to do that to a child.”
“I’ll do better next time,” Shannon said, looking down and away.


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