It’s not that I am not happy in my current relationship. Rather, I am torn between the progressiveness I naturally pursue and the regressive nature of a society that still makes me feel “less black” for dating a white man.That day in the grocery store, I stood in the checkout line behind that handsome black man with the Rice Krispies.
Nevertheless, I still feel that, by not dating black men, I’m neglecting the shared history, solidarity and future prosperity of my fellow people.
As a young girl and even throughout college, I was frequently annoyed when my peers would suggest that I would magically find a partner if I exclusively pursued black men.
I could love my skin and also love Britney Spears and country music.
Blackness isn’t homogeneous, but it took me a while to see that.
Black guys have more easily understood my gripes about my hair or institutional injustice.
But I’ve long known that there is no such thing as a perfect partner. Along the way, I’ve dated white guys who wanted to learn about blackness; white guys who pretended my blackness didn’t exist; a Jewish guy who was well-meaning but politically infuriating; and a Honduran man who promptly ditched me for my best friend.
I am an ally to my people, but I have not connected with them in the deepest way possible — romantic love.
How can I support the advancement of black people if I have never let down my walls for a black man myself?
Even when I have expressed romantic interest in black guys, it has always been a futile effort.
That was perhaps the most frustrating aspect of my well-meaning friends’ advice.
He teaches me about German beer and soccer chants; I familiarize him with my Caribbean culture and Jamaican cuisine.