Being white in a small Texas town, I don’t remember race being an issue. My pre-k teacher was a black man. He was awesome! I learned a lot that year, so much so that the school spoke with my parents about advancing me to the 1st grade, skipping kindergarten. However, my mom did not want this for me. My pre-k teacher was responsible for me learning so much that year. Obviously I was 4-5 years old, so I don’t remember everything, but I remember how much I loved my teacher. My mom told me how I was so excited for school every day, and even wanted to go when I was sick! Only a great teacher can be the reason for a kid being that excited to learn.
Growing up, my parents both had friend’s that were white, Hispanic, and black. I never thought about how my best friend was a different race than me. I truly did not see color. My first direct experience with racism was in middle school. My boyfriend was a Hispanic kid. Great kid. Played sports, was in the band and made good grades. He came from a hard working family just like me. My parents knew who his parents were and really liked him. Well, one evening, the grandmother of a friend of mine decided to call my mother. “Did you know that your daughter is dating a Mexican from the projects?” My mother, being the strong minded woman that she is, responded, “I do know who she is dating, and he lives in your neighborhood.”
This woman had decided that it was wrong for me to be with someone of another race and wanted to make it was an issue. I was so proud to be my mother’s daughter. In another light, why was this an issue? What did it matter what color my boyfriend’s skin was? I started to pay more attention as my friend’s also started finding boyfriends. So many of them said that they were not allowed to date anyone that wasn’t the same color as them. WHAT?! Why? What did it matter if they were different?
Over the next few years, going into high school, friend groups shifted. I was still involved in activities with some of these girls, but our relationships had changed. I did not feel like them. I was very different, I had a different perspective. In high school, I started talking to a guy that was mixed, his father was white and his mother black. My parents wouldn’t care right? Experiencing all that I had witnessed with my friends over the years, I wasn’t sure what my parents would think.
I decided to sit down with them to let them know. I guess I shouldn’t have been surprised that they already knew. Small towns, no secrets. They told me that they didn’t care if his skin was purple. All that mattered to them is that he was a good person and treated me with respect. Man, I love my parents! I never should have questioned them. They are the reason that I was able to grow up and love people, regardless of their skin color.
Fast forwarding to college, I met my husband. Going from a small town in Texas to another small in south Louisiana, not much was different. My husband is a black man, born and raised in our university town. We discussed our experiences with dating and his were similar to mine. The man was always viewed as the bad guy, and the girl as trash by people with those mindsets. I loved that he felt like I did, who cares! I remember we were walking together in a mall once, holding hands, and an older white couple turned their heads to look at us as they passed by. My husband grabbed me and kissed me! “Give them something to look at,” he said. That’s my guy right there!
I had kinda gone into the headspace that we were young adults now. My peers were on the same page as me, without having to answer to their parents at this point in their lives. I was wrong. I was part of our university's track team, mostly black women with a few white distance runners. I was the only white sprinter at the time so I spent most of my time with the sprinters. However, we were on a trip to an out of town track meet when some of the distance girls came to me and asked questions about my relationship. “Do you only like black guys?” Excuse me? First of all, how does who I date concern you? Secondly, why does it matter that my boyfriend is black? I was furious.
At this stage in my life, I transitioned from being confused as to why it mattered to people, to feeling angry that people were so ignorant! What was wrong with these white people? Didn’t they know that underneath our skin color we are all human and made the same? Skin color doesn’t impact compatibility, intelligence, character or anything that mattered when falling in love. I was also almost ashamed of being white at this point. I didn’t want to be grouped with these ignorant people. I was called a lot of names for dating a black guy. I’ll leave that to the imagination, but do know they weren’t nice.
Soon after, I experienced something new. My husband and I stopped to eat at a fast food place in town and he went to the bathroom just as it was our turn to order. I started telling the girl, who was black, our order, and she was completely rude to me! What did I say to make her so rude? Just as I was thinking about how I was going to tell my husband, he walked up and this girl’s whole demeanor changed. She was so nice to him, smiled and made sure he had all he needed. What just happened?
When we sat down I told him about my experience with the girl before he walked up. He believed she probably did not like seeing him with a white girl. What? Why would she care? This was the first time I experienced racism in this manner. I was the bad guy now. This was just the first of several other situations I would experience like this.
There was a night that we were downtown for college night that I witnessed my husband experience something truly frustrating and scary. We were waiting outside for some friends when my husband crossed the street and two white guys tried to attack him. In the moment of fighting back, my husband’s shirt was pulled over his head, not allowing him to see who or what was around him. I remember yelling as the officers, who always hung out outside the bars on these nights, approached him. His shirt was over his head so he had no idea who was grabbing him, in which he swung and punched one of the officers. He was put on the ground and handcuffed. The two guys that clearly approached him and started the whole thing, stood next to the cop car, uncuffed, as they spoke to the officers. I was furious!
Why was my husband in cuffs when he was clearly only defending himself? These cops surely saw the whole thing unfold? They just didn’t care. My husband appeared to be the aggressor, a big black guy. I definitely let them know what I thought, until my husband’s friend finally pulled me away so that the cops wouldn’t decide to cuff me next. They were taking him to the police station. Are you kidding me? I called his mom on my way to the police station.
We waited for about an hour before they decided to release him. How was this going to impact his basketball scholarship? Would he have to go to court? Once outside, his mom started to talk to him. She asked what happened and he described everything. It occurred to me at this moment that she was relieved that he was safe. Why was she concerned for his safety? He was in police custody, what was there to worry about?
Over the years, I have learned a lot. There was a time where I claimed “I don’t see color,” but this wasn’t true. I always saw color, it just didn’t determine my relationships with people. I loved people for who they are. It took my husband to help me realize the problem in society. People like me who loved all, but didn’t truly understand what people of color were experiencing outside of what we read or saw in the news. There was a night that my husband was pulled over while on the phone with me. This was after George Floyd was murdered by a police officer and tension was building in communities. He was afraid, and that shook me.
We continue to experience situations where people obviously don’t agree with our relationship because of the difference in our skin colors, but we don’t pay as much attention. Sometimes when I am with our children alone in public I get looks from white people, as if they are trying to determine what color they are. My husband has a light complexion and hazel eyes, I have green eyes, so our children are much lighter with colored eyes. My favorite is when someone is oblivious to who my husband is and asks where their curly hair came from. The look of surprise when I tell them is kinda humorous.
Becoming more aware, I haven’t figured out where to go from here with my new understanding. Awareness is important. I have a mixed son that I know society will only see as a black man some day, and I’m worried for him. I should not have to be worried for him. He should be seen as the sweet, silly, loving young man that he is turning into. I don’t have a solution, or action plan, but if I am placed in a moment that allows me to stand up for anyone because they are profiled based on their skin color, I will. I will continue to acknowledge that we have a problem in our country and help share the reality of what is continuing to happen.
