One racist slur

"Brad! Tasha! Come here!" Molly shrieked from the kitchen door at her grown children as they sat on the deck.

They got up, bewildered and afraid of their eccentric mother. As they reached her, she flicked her greying purple hair around to lead them inside.

Molly led them all the way through the kitchen, into the entrance hall, and turned on her heel as she grabbed the front door handle.

"I have terrible, terrible news. No one can know, come outside with me."

Brad and Tasha looked at each other and followed their mother like two children about to be scolded. It reminded Tasha of the first time Molly had found them playing with the servants' children on the farm when they were children. Mother had insisted it was Tasha's fault and had taken a beating because she had led Brad to play with those 'dirty' black children.

Molly led them down the garden path towards the mini-golf course they had installed one Christmas for Brad's children.

"Mum, what is it?" Brad whimpered.

Tasha rarely initiated a conversation with her mother. She was never able to satisfy Molly. In no way. The mere fact that Tasha was a girl was enough for Molly to brush her off her entire life.

Tasha thought back to one of the other occasions her mother had called her aside in a panic. She was five years old, wearing a pink princess dress and fairy wings.

"Daddy, am I a Princess?" Tasha beamed up at her father from his knees. "Yes, my darling. You're a beautiful Princess."

"I love you, Daddy. Can I get married to you when I'm big?"

"No, my darling, but you will find a lovely boy your age to marry."

"But you're my favourite. I want to marry you."

"Tasha! Come with me now!" Molly shrieked from the kitchen door.

Tasha whipped round to see her mother's scary bright blue eyes. She jumped away from her Dad like she had just been caught with her hand in the sweetie jar, and sheepishly walked towards her mother. "I'm coming Mummy."

Molly waited at the kitchen table, dragging on a cigarette as Tasha entered. "Close the door and sit down."

"You look ridiculous in that dress."

"Aunty Beth gave it to me, Mummy, I think it's beautiful."

"I don't," Molly scolded.

"I'm sorry Mummy, I'll take it off."

"Now, listen to me, you little brat! Your father is my husband. Not yours. You can never marry your father. He is mine. Do you understand, you disgusting little girl?"

Tasha nodded with tears in her eyes.

"Go to your room. Come out for dinner," Molly said as she blew smoke in Tasha's direction.

"You have to keep this between us three. Your father can not know! Never ever. Do you promise?" Molly's words brought Tasha back to reality.

"Sure, Molly, what is it?"

"Kids. Your grandmother Rita made a comment about your Aunty Beth's, hair. She said 'it's wire-like like her grandfather's hair was'."

"Who? Grandpa John?" Brad asked.

"No, no, of course not! My Grandpa, my Dad's father, Grandpa Robinson, the one we never knew. My boy. Don't you see? That must explain why I am so different from my brothers and sisters. Beth, Kevin, Roy and Sue all have dark features! They have tanned skin, brown and black hair, brown eyes. I have blonde hair, pale skin and blue eyes!"

"What are you getting at, Mum?" Brad asked.

"Rita is not my mother!"

"But Mum, granny Rita had blonde hair and has blue eyes. Maybe Grandpa isn't your Dad, that would make more sense, wouldn't it?" Tasha asked slowly and carefully, assessing her mother's reaction to every word.

"Don't be stupid, Tasha!" Brad snapped at her. "Of course, Grandpa is Mum's Dad. Grandpa was an amazing man, he would never have lied about it!"

While Brad and Molly's voices became distant sounds, Tasha retrieved another memory from way back.

Tasha was trying on some evening dresses for her final year school dance in a little boutique store that her Daddy had made her mother take her to for a dress.

"Mum?" she called from behind the dressing room curtain.

"Can you please get the purple dress in a size bigger? This one is too tight on me."

"I told you it would be. Why did you take that size? You know how big you are. I was never that big at your age. Really, Tasha, you have to watch your weight. You will be obese by 30!"

Tasha could hear the deafening silence in the fitting rooms. There were at least three other people in cubicles nearby. Why does she have to be so loud and tell the world that you hate me? Tasha sat there, sobbing quietly while she waited for Molly to return with the dress.

"Here you are!" she said, shoving it through the curtain, "Hurry up, I don't have all day."

When Tasha put the dress on, it was a perfect fit. It was a sleeveless dress that complimented her sporty arms. It had an elegant square neck that flowed to a belt at the waist and then opened up to a flowing waterfall-like drape over her round but perky bottom. It stopped, stopping just below the calf muscle, only revealing the muscular curve that leads to her calf. Tasha was not fat at all. She was fit and athletic with a little extra on the backside.

It looks great! She thought. I wonder what mother will think? Surely she will agree? How can she not?

Tasha peaked through the curtain to see her mother reading a magazine, legs crossed and tapping impatiently.

She took a deep breath and opened the curtain all the way. She stood there for a second, her mother not noticing.

"Mum. What do you think?" she said beaming with a smile from ear to ear.

"Alright. You can have it. Let's go."

Tasha breathed a sigh of relief and went back in the fitting room cubicle. She sat down and nearly began to sob before quickly reminding herself that her mother had at least not insulted her.

"Tasha? Are you listening to this?" Brad said as she returned to the present disaster.

"Yes, sorry. What was that?"

Both Brad and Molly rolled their eyes at her, annoyed.

"Mom thinks gran isn't her mother. Not our grandmother. Because if she is then that means Grandad is-" Brad couldn't finish his sentence.

Molly kneeled down on the ground. "It can't be. No, it just can't. Why me? What is wrong with this family?" she cried into Brad's arms as he knelt in front of her as Molly realised she was the only child that did look like her mother, so her mother must be her mother, meaning her grandfather is...

Tasha's mind went to her wedding day as her brother and mother were sobbing on the floor.

It was almost speech time. Molly had spent the last few months planning what she called "our wedding", refusing to acknowledge the day as Tasha's special day. It was Molly's special day, as the bride mother. Up until the day, Molly had made nearly every decision about the wedding day. She even convinced Tasha to pick a dress she didn't really want. Tasha had chosen a lovely V-neck dress which her mother said no to because 'you need to hide your cleavage!' Molly even threatened not to come, or allow Daddy to walk her down the aisle if she was to wear that dress.

It was the wedding day. Tasha had agreed with her mother about everything, just to make sure her father could give her away.

They were in the car together on route to the wedding. She couldn't travel with Daddy because Molly wouldn't allow it. Tasha was staring out of the window on the happiest day of her life, watching the world go by.

"Tasha."

"Yes, Mum?" she turned, hoping she had something positive to say, like 'you look beautiful today'.

"You know that today you become a Smith. You will no longer be a Stewart," she said coldly.

"Yes, Mum, I realise that. Just like you stopped being a Robinson and became a Stewart when you got married."

"Yes. Brad's children are Stewarts, and I have always treated them as such. Any child you have will not be a Stewart, and I won't have it in me to love it the same as I love Stewart children. My feelings towards you will be the same. I can only love Stewart family members. Do you know what I mean?"

"Yes, Mum. I do," she answered and turned back to look out of the window.

"After you are married, you can call me Molly," her mother finished.

Tasha felt the largest, most painful lump grow in her throat, and she fought back a tear. She let out a quiet sigh so Molly wouldn't notice. But I have been a Stewart all these years. Why couldn't you love me while I've been a Stewart?'

At that moment, Tasha came back again. Brad and Molly had got up and were talking about great Grandpa.

"No one will know, Mum. Don't let it upset you. We won't tell anyone, will we Tasha?"

"But you don't understand! We Are BLACK!" Molly exclaimed with horror.

A smile crept along Tasha's face as she tried to fight it off. This was the moment she had needed her whole life. An imperfection, in her mother's eyes, of herself. Something she could hang over her head. Molly was raised in the 60s by old fashioned racist white parents. Molly was as racist as they come. Tasha and Brad had managed to escape becoming racist as they had grown up playing with their servants' children - much to their mother's distress. Molly would make them take a bath as soon as they came inside after playing with the other 'children of colour'. Tasha never understood it until she was much older.

Now my mother thinks she is black because her grandfather was a black man, Tasha realised. Mother never met her grandfather, and no one had ever seen a photograph of him. Granny Violet raised her children without a father - as far as they knew.

"Molly. Calm down. It's 2008. No one is going to bat an eyelid. The world has changed, it's not as racist as you are."

Molly glared at Tasha.

"How can my grandchildren accept love from a black woman? How can I go on giving them hugs and kisses, knowing I am black?"

"Mum, you're not black! Stop being ridiculous. We love you no matter who your grandparents were or what race they were. You're completely insane," Brad encouraged.

Tasha realised this could be a moment for sweet revenge. Should she use this to hurt her mother in a way, her mother hurt her all her life, even though skin colour is no issue to her, Tasha thought. I am not racist, I don't care about it. Molly is completely over the top about this, but...

"Molly. It's ok. You were black. Then you married Dad and became a Stewart. Now you're not black. Just like I'm not a Stewart. I'm a Smith, of purely Caucasian heritage."

Tasha turned on her heel and began walking back towards the house. She couldn't give her mother a chance to respond. She felt awful for the racist slur that she swung at her mother, but the revenge was too sweet to care.

"Just once. My black friends would forgive me, just this once," she muttered under her breath.