Dikembe Mutombo Quotes

When I was born, my dad and my mom gave me names, but in Africa, when your child is born, especially close family members can suggest names they want to add on.

It was my dad's idea to change my name from Sahatciu to Ora. He said it would be easier to pronounce.

My middle name is Nicole. It's so weird because my mom is from El Salvador, but my sisters and I have Irish names - Christy, Kelly, and Erin. And Christy and Kelly, they're not even girls' names! In Ireland, they're boys' names. And somehow, my mom was in El Salvador dreaming about Shamrocks before we were born.

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

Me being a black girl in London, whose mom is first-generation African and whose dad is West Indian, gives me a different view. I'm coming at soul from my own place.

Mom ran the house, so we grew up Portuguese.

On my mom's side I'm Mexican, and my dad is a white dude.

No one in my family has been observant for generations, but we all identify with being Jewish.

When you live in Mexico, your houses all have names.

My dad was Jewish. My mom is not. So I was not raised anything.

Dad's Jewish and Irish, Mom's German and Scotch. I couldn't say I was anything. My last name isn't even Downey. My dad changed his name when he wanted to get into the Army and was underage. My real name is Robert Elias. I feel like I'm still looking for a home in some way.

There is no singular 'reason' why Africans use fractals, any more than a singular reason why Americans like rock music. Such enormous cultural practices just cover too much social terrain.

My aunt Geraldine was the unofficial historian and storyteller. She had all the information about family members and the gossip that came out of the church because we were very much part of the African Methodist Episcopal Zion Church. At family gatherings, the older folk had the floor, had pride of place, and it was their stories I remember.

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.

My full name is Olatunde Olateju Olaolorun Fagbenle. I was named after my grandfather. It's Yoruba, which is, like, southern Nigeria.

My children have to know where they come from and the way of life in Africa.

There's a misconception that I can't relate to the quote-unquote 'Asian-American experience' because I didn't grow up with an Asian mom and dad. And that's just not true. I am Asian American, and so playing a girl who is half Korean, half white, but her white dad tried really hard to connect with her mom's heritage - that's very familiar to me.

In Benin, there's a thing that family members wear the same pattern of traditional African clothing.

My mom named me Pom because she said it sounded like a combination of Korean words that mean 'spring' and 'tiger.' So, it's very unique!

I'm half Telugu. My mom is Telugu and dad, a Maharashtrian. I was brought up in Gwalior. I was exposed to English, Hindi, and Marathi. I heard my mom speak to her family in Telugu, so I got the hang of it.

I always said if I had a son, I was going to give him a unique name.

We must learn to live the African way. It's the only way to live in freedom and with dignity

He rolled his eyes. "First, my Dad's Korean and my mom was Swedish. Second, I totally suck at math. I don't like cuckoo clocks or skiing or fancy chocolate either." I sputtered a laugh. "I think that's Swiss.

My mom is Jamaican and Chinese, and my dad is Polish and African American, so I'm pretty mixed. My nickname in high school was United Nations. I was fine with it, even though I identify as a black woman. People don't realize it hurts my feelings when someone looks at my hair or my eyes, and says, "But you're not actually black. You're black, but you're not black black, because your eyes are green." I'm like, "What? No, no, I'm definitely black." Even some of my closest friends have said that. It's been a bit touchy for me.

Culture is the one thing that we cannot deliberately aim at. It is the product of a variety of more or less harmonious activities, each pursued for its own sake.