Don’t worry. I haven’t been kidnapped.

I knew this day would come: the day I alienate half of my readers with a personal opinion. I’ve had a good run though – I can’t believe I’ve been doing this for a year; I’m so grateful to anyone who’s read or enjoyed any of this nonsense. And, to half of you: so sorry this is goodbye forever. But, as 2018 will see me venture down the aisle toward holy matrimony, I’ve been reflecting a lot on mine and my fiancé’s awesome relationship. And to various random passers-by I’d like to say: mind your goddamn motherfucking business.

Hol’up. Retract. Came in a little hot there. There will be time for that later. Let me start here: I am a black man and my future wife is a white woman. GASP! Halt music!… something breaks in the kitchen… a cat yelps. Yes, that’s right; I am half of one of those interracial relationships you’ve been hearing about. Now, many of you are saying: “So, the fuck, what?” right now, and I agree with you, but trust me when I tell you that people do care… way too much.

Maybe my annoyance is misplaced. After all, many of you random strangers have the look of genuine concern on your faces when you see us walking the neighborhood together. Can I be honest? I’mma be honest. Mostly, it’s black women. Ok? There, it’s out in the open. I want to assure you beautiful sistas and anyone else who flashes that concerned brow at me: I have not been kidnapped. I love her and am in this relationship by choice – no need to worry. Really.

Did I mention that it’s 2018? Listen, I understand very well what the history of whites and blacks in this country looks like. I do not understand how that translates into not being able to love and trust someone who had nothing to do with any of that history, but if you want to exclude entire races from your dating pool based on what happened in the past, knock yourself out. That’s your journey. I’m a big supporter of not having an opinion on anything you do with your life, us being strangers and all. I, alternatively, choose to take comfort in the fact that my lady has never, not once, ever, demanded that me and my family come work for her family for free. Not one time. In fact, she’s one of the most kind and caring people I’ve ever met, and that is enough for me.

I was going to add a note in here about the diversity of my dating history but I decided…

[Wait. What’s that? That package I ordered is ready for delivery? Excellent.]

*Opens package and reveals contents: Mind your goddamn motherfucking business.

And it’s not just looks of concern we get; those I tend to ignore. It’s the looks of pure shade that annoy me. I mostly try not to offend (kind of) in these rants so let me say, to all the awesome black women in my life who’ve loved and supported me, or those who haven’t done either of those things but are too busy tending to their own shit to bother with me – thank you and this isn’t about you. But to those who don’t fit into those categories and need to make their opinions known to me or my gal: kindly go home. Go home and sit and think for a while. I’m not arrogant enough to imagine that your shade has anything to do with a desire to be with me, but if there’s any of that in there let me assure you that I’m the same quiet, awkward, oaf you couldn’t be bothered with in high school, college and beyond; I just got a job and a haircut. There are still plenty of good ones out there – my lady didn’t jump the line and steal the last one as you may believe.

Furthermore, the fact that I ended up with a white woman doesn’t speak to any sort of unfavorable opinion I have of any other race of women I’ve dated. There’s beauty, grace and intelligence in all corners of this planet. Some relationships just don’t work out and once I found one that did, I made the decision not to throw that all away because she doesn’t look like me. Again, make whatever personal decision you like – not my business.

I’m not unreasonable. If, down the line, I find out that my fiancé is chairwoman of the White Women’s Alliance to Steal African Brothas Incorporated (WASABI), I’ll eat crow. If I find out that there’s some secret, official scoreboard that is keeping track of black men stolen by white women versus black women who’ve discovered how to make green bean casserole and I upset the balance, I’ll issue my official apology. And if I discover that the loss of my penis from the open market led to the extinction of my race, that’ll really be a bummer. But I think it’s fair to assume none of those things are within the realm of likely possibilities.

And now, I’m afraid, it’s time for me to go all the way in. Because it is not only some black women who seem to have an issue; it’s also some (mostly older) white folks. I may or may not have expressed in a previous post that I believe racism should be classified as a symptom of mental illness, but I do believe that. And some of you older folks just can’t seem to stifle your discomfort when I’m publicly affectionate with my white, white, oh-so-white, white woman fiance. Oh, is that a problem? Well let me assure you of something. All of those things that you’re imagining – those things that a white woman shouldn’t lower herself to be doing with a black man – we’re doing those things. Yup! We’re walking with fingers interlocked and it looks like piano keys – so much contrast you can’t stand it! Yup.. we’re at dinner, all up in your fancy, would’ve-been-whites-only restaurants, eating off of each other’s plates. And yes, sir and ma’am, our babies are going to be light taupe as a mu’fucka – curly-headed, taupe as shit and so ambiguously raced. So, if you, or any other idiots, don’t like any of that, please feel free to jump into your time machine, set the dial to 1945, gather up your valuables and your reading materials, lock yourself in and light that bitch on fire.

If any of the above seems overly harsh, please keep in mind that it is in reaction to unsolicited stink eye and under-the-breath mumblings. Had y’all minded your business in the first place, this blog wouldn’t even exist. Please also keep in mind that I really, really enjoyed describing my future babies as “taupe-as-shit” and will take any opportunity to continue doing so. Lastly, given the current racially-charged nature of politics and public sentiment in the U.S., it seems like an easy time to re-etch those lines of division that have never really gone away, which, to me, makes it even more important that we have as many difficult conversations regarding race as we can.

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