But what matters isn't what Scott doesn't know, but what she thinks she does--that he's African People.As much as my own limitations allow, I sympathize with race and the constructions of beauty standards, just like I sympathize with race and its effects on the justice system.
The point about "African people worldwide" is a tip off.Now I ride for my folks, but we certainly are no more "welcoming and open-minded" than any other group of people.I admit when I saw his wedding ring, I privately hoped.But something in me just knew he didn't marry a sister. My body showed no reaction to my inner pinch, but the sting was there, quiet like a mosquito under a summer dress. Did the reality of his relationship somehow diminish his soul's credibility? One could easily dispel the wince as racist or separatist, but that's not how I was brought up. I was taught that every man should be judged by his deeds and not his color, and I firmly stand where my grandmother left me.A fresh shave followed by a ton of cologne (he’s Dominican, and it’s important to him that people know he’s coming, and know he’s there), and then blow-drying his hair to get that perfect coif. My pops would explain that as a young man in the Dominican Republic, you had to work so hard perfecting yourself, preparing your mask, so that when a young European or American woman came through, she might choose you, as he would put it, might take you home with her, like that was your only way out. At 30, I woke up one day, took a deep breath, looked at her and thought, “I don’t think I can date white women anymore.”Maybe I wouldn’t have broken up with her if it hadn’t been for all the judgment coming my way.
Even years later, my pops still took longer to get ready than my mother and sister combined, delicately taking a black Sharpie to any stray grays that might pop up in his goatee. Later he made his way to New York City, where he met my mother, who is Colombian. Over the years I have dated brown women and black women, but mostly white women.
Relationships are not (anymore, at least) a collectivist act.
They really come down to two individuals doing business in ways that we will never be privy to.
It's totally out of whack with what I see/hear in my daily interactions.
It's as if all our complainers, all our naysayers, all our insecurities got together and went into journalism.
First, some history: When I was a child, watching my pops get ready to go out was something to behold.