Karyn Parsons Quotes

I grew up on the coast of England in the '70s. My dad is white from Cornwall, and my mom is black from Zimbabwe. Even the idea of us as a family was challenging to most people.

So, Mexico, Brazil, they wanted their national culture to be 'blackish' - really brown, a beautiful brown blend. And finally, I discovered that in each of these societies the people at the bottom are the darkest skinned with the most African features.

I've always called myself a different shade of Brown.

My blood's not red or blue - it's brown.

I existed in a space where my mother was a black woman and my father was a white man. And that's how I saw the world. I was just like, some dads are whites and some moms are black. And that's how it is.

I knew exactly what I was, and there was no hang-up with me. None whatsoever. The fact that the pigment of my skin maybe being lighter brown than other people of my race, maybe some of them, but you know our race has all colors.

Sometimes I even feel funny to say I'm in a biracial marriage because people are like, 'Oh, he's Asian?' The subtext is, 'Who cares? You didn't marry a black person.'

I come from an interracial family: My father is from Nigeria, and so he is African-American, and my mother is American and white, so I rarely see skin color. It's never an issue for me.

I grew up in a predominantly Caucasian neighborhood, but my mom is Filipino-Spanish and my dad is Irish.

I have always, or for the most part, identified myself as a biracial person.

The American Race is marked by a brown complexion; long, black, lank hair; and deficient beard.

My family is part Creole, and we're Indian, and we're also very, very black. My father was so black, he was blue.

I remember I went through a period where I didn't embrace my 'chocolatiness.' I don't know if that's a word, but I didn't embrace my chocolate lifestyle. Just being a chocolate, lovely brown skin girl and being proud of that.

My life is black and white and mixed. My mother's a Rastafarian, my dad was a short white guy - it's not an affectation. It's also the lives of millions of people throughout the world.

My father was a dark-skinned brother, but my mother was a very fair-skinned lady. From what I understand, she was Creole; we think her people originally came from New Orleans. She looked almost like a white woman, which meant she could pass - as folks used to say back then. Her hair was jet-black. She was slim and very attractive.

There's competition among women everywhere you go. But back home, we understand that you can look like a variety of things and still be from the same culture. What I'm saying is that I've never felt like I was a light-skinned black woman. Never felt that way because we shared the same culture back home.

So long as procreation stems from parents of the same race, appearance and lineage are typically congruent. Interracial unions give rise to added complexity. Interracial amalgamation will produce some individuals whose features diverge from those commonly ascribed to the races of their ancestors.

There is no one American beauty or just one beautiful color in the pantheon, especially in regards to black people - there is no better color.

My dad is Caucasian, and my mom is African American. I'm half black and half white. Being biracial paints a blurred line that is equal parts staggering and illuminating.

In my family, only my brother has a similar skin color. But in Senegal, the color is common.

Nobody is totally white in Brazil.

Growing up, my mom always knew that I was more on the Black side than the Spanish side, just because I didn't speak Spanish.

My grandfather was extremely dark and from Puerto Rico, but his brother had blond hair and blue eyes. There are so many different shades, and I think Hollywood has yet to realize that.

My father is black - was black. My mother is white.

I never considered myself as part of a biracial family - we're just a family - but my parents are white, and my brother is Asian.