My wife is black. I'm not. She is not African American. She is from Jamaica. Jamaican American? Jamerican? African Jamaican? And what is Caucasian anyhow? I'm puzzled when people reference white people as Caucasian. My little niece, when she was a babe, when asked what color we are stated it thus: I am pink, my wife is brown and our daughter is yellow.
I love my wife's blackness. I find it very attractive. Always have. One of my earliest celebrity crushes was the Olympic skater Debi Thomas circa 1984. Kind of a strange crush when considering where I grew up. The race issue made things a bit rocky in the beginning but that was my fault, not hers. The discomfort was mine, more influenced by what others thought than I cared to admit. One of my decisive acts of maturity was the decision to marry her no matter what anyone said. Once the decision was made, people came along. The problem had been me all along.
My wife's race doesn't matter to me in terms of who she is as a person but there is a difference in culture, no matter how similar our worldviews. This has been part of the challenge and part of the growth in our relationship. In terms of her appearance it is a part of her makeup. And I find to be a part of her beauty and thus embrace it. It was she who told me that she hates the statement "I don't see color" from well meaning white people. Though she is understanding of the intent, she says you better damn well see her color. If you don't you are whitewashing (no pun intended) a part of who she is. See it. Recognize it. Embrace it. Value it.
I've had the comment made by black people we know that I am a "cool" white guy, that I don't act white, whatever that means. Maybe it simply means that I am seen as a person first. We all harbor stereotypes and attitudes about race. The key isn't to deny this but to be willing and open to changing our attitudes.
We need to learn to embrace and value our differences, of which race is one difference out of many, and not try and somehow blend everything into one homogeneous stew. Obama's presidential campaign brought this out. For some he was too black; for others he wasn't black enough.
This goes deeper than diversity which has become a legal, institutional effort at making sure that we represent as many races as possible in commercials and promotional literature. It's basically become a marketing tool. It is, for the most part, a positive thing but it doesn't really help anyone embrace the difference; it educates and ensures a level of tolerance or acceptance. It's a great place to start but it has become just too obvious, almost cliche. And once this happens, people stop seeing it.
So I embrace my wife's blackness. I embrace her color. And respect her pride in the same. Yet because of the same, and my relationship with her, I have also learned firsthand about the racism that still lingers in this country. We still have a ways to go.
I have seen it from a perspective I would never have seen otherwise. Why? Because I am part of the dominant culture and, as such, I can't really see it. I take things for granted. I don't worry about being pulled over while driving through my small, suburban hometown because of my color. I don't worry about being profiled or being watched while shopping.
Our daughter, who would probably pass the brown paper bag test, was pulled over the other day in my small, suburban hometown because of a broken tail light. Legally, the officer had right to pull her over. And he did. But I can tell you without a doubt that it was the very large, very dark black man in the passenger seat that raised the red flag.
Paranoia? Not so fast. My wife and I have been stopped on more than one occasion under suspicious circumstances. While using a drive-up pay phone one night, a police cruiser with two officers in front pulled up along side of us and asked if everything was ok. Just being nice? We were pulled over another time for I can't remember what and the officer asked my wife for her license, even though I was the one driving. He most likely thought I had picked up a prostitute.
During the holiday season one year we were going to return a phone that wasn't working. The return line was at least ten people deep so we thought we'd go back and grab a replacement item to save time. My wife made certain that I carried the bag. I looked at her with a puzzled look in my eye. "Trust me," she said.
They didn't have the phone we were looking for so while on our way out of the store we were stopped by two plain clothes cops who accused us of stealing, stating that we placed a new phone in the bag. My wife read him the riot act while I sat there stupefied. It never even crossed my mind that this would happen. Outside, my wife told me that was exactly the reason she wanted me to carry the bag.
We have, however, been able to shine a different light on interracial couples. A woman came up to my wife in church several weeks ago, singling her out to talk to her. After several minutes of conversation the woman confessed that she has always had a problem with interracial relationships but for some reason she had no problem with ours. This is not the first time something like this has happened. We've grown quite comfortable with it.
By and large we haven't experienced much trouble with our relationship as an interracial couple. In fact, if anything, we have many, many more positive than negative stories. But most of this comes from how we present ourselves and live our lives. We are aware of the differences and are quite open about them, seeing the value, the beauty, and often the humor, in the differences.
