Our family is a multiracial or mixed one.  My wife is Black.  I am White.  Our son is biracial.

When it comes to parenting in a multiracial family, it’s not all that confusing.  Except to people outside the family.  Inside the family, things are very mundane. We rarely talk about race and racism.  Instead, we talk about issues that hit much closer to home, like asking “who farted?”

Nevertheless, issues of race are inescapable when you’re in a multiracial family. So, as we approach Father’s Day (my day to do anything I please so long as my 2 bosses – i.e., my wife and my son — approve), I wanted to offer you this White dad’s guide to Father’s Day in multiracial families:

1. On Father’s Day, you may not ask me if I kidnapped our biracial child.

2. On Father’s Day, you may not ask me if we adopted our biracial child.

3. On Father’s Day, you may not tell me a joke about the future size of our biracial son’s “junk” (aka genitals).

4. On Father’s Day, you may not tell me a racist joke, particularly when it involves the race of my wife and son (even if the joke is funny).

5. On Father’s Day, you may not accuse me of having jungle fever.

6. On Father’s Day, you may not say to me “I bet you use the N-Word all the time.”

7. On Fathers’ Day, you may not compare m to Tom Willis or Lenny Kravitz’s dad, no matter how apt the comparison.

8. On Father’s Day, although our family is Jewish, you may not ask me about my son’s “Black Mitzvah” or laugh as you tell me he’s “Blewish”

9. On Father’s Day, you may not suggest that to honor our son’s 2 family backgrounds (Black and Jewish) we should send him to basketball camp to become a sports agent.

10. On Father’s Day, you may not comment to me at all about anyone’s hair, least of all my wife’s or my son’s.

Bottom line, Father’s Day is my day.  I earned it.  I did my job, which is not nearly as difficult as my wife’s job (being a good dad is like being the best player in the minor leagues. It’s great, but there’s a whole level of people above you). But I did my job.  And, as a result, for one day I’ve earned the right to just enjoy my family free from color and inquiring minds and racially-charged awkward moments and racist comments and prejudicial attitudes and discriminatory actions.

So she’s Black (Brown, actually).  So, he’s biracial (tannish).  So, I’m White (actually more tan than our son).  So what?  When we wake up in the morning we don’t get on a conference call with Al Sharpton and talk about the state of race relations in our apartment.  No, we sluggishly make our way to the living room, where we watch cartoons and try to wake up. That’s it.  We live a perfectly integrated life, just like every other family who loves each other, but who also gets annoyed as hell at each other sometimes.

Bottom line: it’s my day. Don’t ruin it with some b.s.   You wanna ruin a day? Ruin your day.  Be as big an a-hole as you wanna be on your birthday.  I don’t care.  I won’t be there. And, I’m not buying a present either.

Peace.