It is a known fact that I am (and have always been) attracted to the “other white meat” (and no, it’s not pork – I’m a vegetarian) aka Caucasian men. Blame it on my parents for teaching me (while growing up and maturing as a child) not to recognize color, but character.
Most of my preadolescent childhood was spent in a predominately white neighborhood (climbing magnolia trees, removing those prickly little things from my kinky textured hair, running to the mailbox in the rain with no shoes on, and camping out in the backyard). I experienced my first innocent crush in kindergarten. I recall standing by the art easels (minding my business) and painting a lady bug (well, it looked more like a beetle). And, this blond and blue-eyed boy asked me, “Do you taste like chocolate because your skin is brown?” I shrugged my shoulders and before I could completely turn back to my art project, he kissed me on the cheek. And, he then replies, “Yes, you do taste like chocolate.” I knew it was love. By the way, his name was Ray. And, till this day, my uncle still calls me “Ray Heart.”
Ray, if you’re still out there .. I’m single and available. This time I’ll kiss you back with a slight slip of the tongue.
As a child, I didn’t recognize a barrier or a difference in color until I was faced with a few racially motivated epithets … “You’re a n*****!” and “Go sit on the porch monkey!” One cannot truly understand what racism feels like until they have faced the communicable disease head-on. Racism is like poison that continuously flows through the veins of many folks … with no known antidote.
Living in the south and breathing the bittersweet country air can be annoying as hell. Many southerners are closed-minded and tend to follow a very straight and narrow path. Some tend to misquote biblical scriptures or verses (I know the Lord didn’t say that) only to mollify their tarnished little lives. And, this unjustified behavior is natively ingrained into the minds, hearts, and souls of both southern “white folk” and southern “black folk.”
Dating in the south … well, uh, yeah if you’ve read most of my posts you get the picture. Caucasian men don’t approach me or tend to look in my direction. I try almost everything to get their attention (stare them down until they feel uncomfortable; follow them around a store, event, or networking function; ask a rhetorical question-usually occurs if I’m at a sports bar or a popular eatery; or ask a friend to informally introduce me). I am only left shaking my head and releasing a long sigh of disappointment and rejection.
Some white men only view black women as “big booty whores” or “little black fantasies” or “bedroom projects.” Wait! Don’t start clapping or giving the dap my black brothers, you do the same
thing shit. Always professing, “Oh, I cherish the beautiful black queen” only to turn around and ask a woman to bow down and get on her knees. I can only conclude with … men are men and of course, the obvious … southern white men hate black women.
As cliché as it may sound, love is truly blind; it releases passion, desire, affection, adoration, tenderness, admiration, intimate connections, sparks, and warm sensations …. love holds no color, religion or creed, sexual orientation (heterosexual, homosexual, bisexual, asexual, metrosexual, etcetera … etcetera), status, or any other superficial label.
To Be Continued …