Dating between black women and white men
It was only when he started saying things like, “They’re all wondering why you’re with me,” while gesturing to a group of black men, that I realized he was doubting himself, too. We got stared down in every bar that we entered, and approached with unsolicited offers for company, as though our relationship could only be sexual, as though we needed more than each other to be satisfied.These were the days that he learned how to hold me when I cried.
I remember being 6 and slapping my white uncle in the face to figure out why his face turned bloodred.We always felt halfway to a crime that we could never commit.We were two people of color, the passive transgression, but the responsibility of leaving our races still clung onto our chests.She was looking to me for advice on raising a fatherless child, considering my firsthand experience. It was like that for a while—dismissing every suitor who resembled my father.We rolled down the windows in her beat-up car and took in as much air as we could. Every black girl I knew was saying, “Get yourself a white man,” as though they were selling out quick.
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It didn’t feel like love at first, more like companionship at our all-time lows.