While making my matcha latte this morning, these thoughts rattled around inside my brain, so I thought I would share them. I have never been asked these questions, but I figured they would make for a lighthearted read. Here goes:
No one: I see you with this white man. So do you hate black men?
Me: No, I do not hate black men. I was married to two different black men for a total of 20 years. I also have 2 beautiful black kings, 1 beautiful black prince, a gorgeous queen and 3 incredibly beautiful black-ish grand babies. They really are something to look at, and proud of the skin in which they reside.
No one: Why do you call your grand babies black-ish?
Me: Well, I got the expression from the widely popular television show of the same name. My grand babies are biracial…just watch the show and it will make sense. It is streaming right now on Hulu.
No one: With all the racial tension in our country right now, do you find it difficult to be in a relationship with a white man?
Me: Nope. This particular white man does not agree with what the ‘others’ (meaning the hateful white folk) are doing. He listens (and agrees) when I share my frustrations without offering to fix it. Ooohh! Speaking of fixing things, stop right now and listen to Sam Smith sing Fix You in his most angelic voice.
Also me: Our relationship is not about the glaring obviousness of our racial differences. We are two people who fell in love who just happen to be black and white (I’m pretty sure you are now singing, Ebony and Ivory by Michael Jackson and Paul McCartney). Oh, and I’m sure if he (Robert, not Michael) were here right now, he would want me to share that according to his DNA test, he is 2% Sub-Saharan African. Which actually makes sense given his full lips and whatnot.
Me again: I am tired of explaining to people about the all lives matter, black lives matter issue. Just love each other. How difficult is it? And, speaking of love, go ahead and listen to an oldie but goodie by Black eyed Peas, Where is the Love?
(Still me): I mean seriously, for the white people who hate black people, it can’t be the color of our skin, because, well, spray tans and whatnot. It’s not our hair, because we would catch a case if we smacked the hands of every white person that wanted to touch it. For real. What is it? Do you even know? Probably not, so since it is easier to love, try that. You’ll like it. Like Mikey. And Life cereal.
That One Day When... 