Colorful Love Life

Colorful Love Life


Introduction




Although many of us may live in denial of this irrefutable fact, one truth always remains: You should always discuss the subjects that you want to avoid. The reality is that we don't want to explore these subjects for fear that we or someone in close relation with us will have to do some serious soul searching which will ultimately result in a transformation we deem as "uncalled for." If I were given the opportunity to bring all of these touchy subjects into light, I would never finish this book. However, I would challenge anyone reading this to strongly consider exploring areas of life that you've avoided talking about. It's reasonable to feel uncomfortable discussing these subjects, but the reality is that the first step to solving a problem is to identify it. Once the problem is identified and acknowledged, there should be an extensive dialogue to correct the ineffective approaches that have been utilized to "fix" this problem.

If you were asked "What is the biggest elephant in North America's Room?", what would your response be? While you may not feel at peace giving a perfectly honest answer to this question, I will gladly give you mine. As an African American woman who has lived in America her entire life, my race was forced on me to be the biggest identity that I had. Before I was a woman, I was black. Before I was a varsity speech team member with a passion for connecting with people through orations, I was black. To make matters far more disturbing, once I got saved and told a family member that I'm a Christian before I'm anything else, they had spoken to me with a concealed disdain and appeared to disagree with my legitimate statement. Through this experience with people both in and outside of my race, I learned an important lesson: My identity can only be found in Christ. When asked about my race on a scantron, I always check "Black/African American". When asked about my ethnic heritage, I embrace this aspect of myself. However, as I continued to grow and learn, I accepted skin color for what it really was and always has been: Melanin or lake thereof. The most eye-opening moment for me was reading the Bible daily and eventually encountering Numbers Chapter 12. In this scripture, Miriam and Aaron spoke against Moses because of his marriage to a Cushite woman (a black woman). The Lord's anger burned against them, and he struck Miriam with a skin disease. While it's easy to look with disdain at Miriam and Aaron for how they reacted to an interracial union, in all honesty, how many of you have family members or friends who do the same thing. And to pose an even more direct question: Have you done this yourself? Throughout my entire life, I was trained to only want African American males. Because this was how I was raised, I thought that this was how I was supposed to be, think, and feel. I felt that anything contradictory to this was to be omitted from my life immediately. I even thought that thinking differently meant that there was something wrong with me. However, once I reached middle school, everything changed.


Chapter One: The Transformation


Interracial relationships in my family were extremely rare. When they happened, it was typically involving a black male with a nonblack female. Growing up I was told to be intentional in finding someone black and that if I can't find anyone black because I've exhausted all of my options, my family would welcome the nonblack individual with open arms and would love him just the same as someone who was black. The peculiar thing is that prior to me confessing to my family my attraction to men that weren't black, I was constantly enrolled in schools where blacks were the minority. The first school that forced me to question my engrained prejudices was a school that was predominantly white and Jewish with few black kids and few Christians. Even though my parents deep down realized that this school was not going to strengthen my faith, they felt as though it would strengthen my social network. After leaving a very pro black house where black people that ventured into interracial relationships were looked at with disdain, my parents made it clear that once I enter into this predominantly white school, not to vocalize my pro blackness for fear that some of the rich white and Jewish students wouldn't hire me to work for their successful business that they'll inherit from their multimillionaire parents in the future. It was made clear that I could make friends with them, but never ever be romantically involved with any of the nonblack boys.

During my seventh-grade year at this school, there were several bar mitzvahs, bat mitzvahs and even one B'Not mitzvah (a bat mitzvah for twin girls) that I attended. There were three black girls in my grade including myself. Out of all the parties I went to, not once did a black boy ask any of us to dance with them. In fact, most of the black guys seemed really distant. Whenever I was asked to dance, it was either by a white or a Jewish boy. I always accepted dances with any boy who asked me to dance with them. However, there was one slow dance that completely changed my perspective on who I should be pursuing a romantic relationship with. A white boy who was very popular and considered to be class clown looked at me with adoration and asked me to dance with him. I was attracted to him long before this opportunity even presented itself, so I gladly accepted. As we slow danced, I felt the warm appreciation that he had for me that I never saw in any of the black boys in the school. After we danced, I questioned myself on why my family forced me to pursue relationships with boys who didn't want me and also didn't want girls who looked like me. My family encouraged me to get my hair relaxed, wear it down, and have it straightened. I never questioned that during that time, but later I had to ask myself "Are they rejecting my own blackness while simultaneously asking me to pursue others who rejected it?". While I thought that it was primarily my family that had racial biases, I soon came to learn that some of the same white and Jewish boys that had an interest in me came from families with that same bias.


Chapter Two: The Incident


There was a long history of racism in my middle school. There was one Jewish girl in the school who called a black student the n word during an event that was outside of the school. The black student was unfortunately harassed even more by this student once they both entered the same school and eventually decided to leave due to the unresolved abuse. While I sympathized with the black student, I found it hard to forgive her for how she treated me. We were only two of three black girls in the grade, and she consistently made fun of me and returned my friendliness with cruelty when I foolishly extended my friendship to her. The other black girl was never nasty towards me, but she did reject my kindness and chose to remain friends with the nonblack students in the grade as did the other black girl. Looking back on it now, I find it ironic that both of these individuals chose to follow me on social media much later in the future, but regardless of the answer to why, I am left with one universal truth: never hold anyone to any standard simply because you share the same skin color. Your own race will back stab you just as much as any other. I've been back stabbed by my black peers, and I've been backstabbed by my own black family.

However, I'd like to turn your attention back to the more important facet of this chapter which is that many of the nonblack boys that showed me attention also came from racist families. The Jewish student that I mentioned earlier, who ended up harassing and eventually physically assaulting the black student that left, was fluffing up my skirt during a dress rehearsal. This dreadful individual had absolutely no boundaries whatsoever. I expressed to her that I wanted her to stop, and she said, "I'm trying to fluff up your dress!" The boy that asked me to dance then told her to stop. I thanked him but was eventually met with racist hate from this same boy to follow up on his request to get her to stop fluffing my dress. This same boy who asked me to dance months before said, "Besides I don't want to see her chocolatey behind. Her nasty chocolatey vagina. I don't want to see her little fudgy butt." To make matters even worse, not a single person defended me. They laughed. I was soon filled with rage, and I responded, "What did you just say to me?!" He looked at me with a blank face, so I walked up to him and repeated the question, "What did you just say to me?" He responded saying, "I said that you have a great voice and you're going to do an excellent job on stage. Good luck Ginger!" He then gave me a high five which I reluctantly returned and under his breath he whispered "Fudggggyyyyy". I was completely dumbfounded. How can someone make a racist comment like that but then ask me to dance with him not too long before the incident? Through multiple conversations with others, I found a one-word answer: "Confliction".


Chapter Three: Confliction

I wish I could say this was the last sexually harassing experience that I had from white guys that were attracted to me and who I was also attracted to, but unfortunately it wasn't. Please understand that I by no means am saying that all or even most white males have ill intentions. Please also know that I'm not saying that all or even most black people that I know have exemplified the racist behavior of some of my black peers and black family members. There is good, bad, and ugly in every race and in equal proportions. I am merely sharing some key experiences that have significantly impacted my life and as I've said earlier: It's the things that we avoid talking about that need to be discussed the most.

Throughout much of my life, I've sought after romantic relationships and friendships with other black people. I did this because it was something that my family encouraged me to do, but unfortunately, I had to learn the hard way that I never was and never will be accepted by my race as long as I continue simply being me. I've always been a loving, bubbly, articulate, and innocent individual. This was not very well received from my peers, but this especially was not well received by my own race. I have gotten bullied both verbally and physically for the way that I've conducted myself when I was a young girl. I have also felt the stinging pains of rejection when I've extended an invitation of friendship to another young black girl. As for black guys, during the time that I was attracted to them, they completely overlooked me. This genuine interest that I took in other black people gradually morphed into a more distant and repelled frame of mind when it came to our future interactions with each other. On the flip side, once I entered high school and started interacting with my white peers, they praised my intelligence, kindness, and well-spoken words. This praise made me almost feel like a celebrity in my freshman year, and I slowly found myself growing colder towards my own race because they had not given me that same validation. I also found myself growing more attracted to nonblack males.

My biggest crush in high school, was a very handsome Italian young boy. When I first saw him, I thought that he was one of the cutest boys in the grade, but this was amplified the day that he first talked to me. He asked if I went to the same elementary school with him and I said yes. He then told me that I was in his class. We talked probably for around another 15 seconds. Even though this was a very limited interaction, I grew more and more attracted to him as time progressed. I remembered him in elementary school. He had a crush on me when we were little and would often flirt with me in the third grade. I was not interested in him at the time because I typically only wanted black boys back then. Remembering how much he put himself out there with me when we were little gave me hope that he still had this attraction to me. During different classes that we had together, I'd often notice him staring at me. He'd also cheer me on occasionally during gym but still avoided approaching me until one dark night.

Our high school was hosting a pep rally called red and white night. Everyone was to dress in either red or white to represent our school colors. Being the young teenage girl that I was, my number one goal at that point was one thing: to get a boyfriend. I searched for the cutest red and/or white blouse that I could find, I zipped up a pair of black form fitting shorts, and I got my hair relaxed and straightened. As if that weren't enough, I put on my favorite pair of earrings along with a matching necklace, and once I reached the school bathroom, I put on mascara and eye shadow. In that moment, I felt like one of the best physical versions of myself and had high hopes for meeting someone that night. During the pep rally, I saw my high school crush in the bleachers sitting with his friends. It was a group of young immature teenage boys looking for trouble. My crush grabbed the cap from a water bottle I had previously been drinking from unbeknownst to him and threw it in the audience. Much to his disappointment, he elicited no response from the crowd. He then poured all of the water out of the bottle, crumbled it up, and threw that in the audience. At least three people quickly turned around. One of the staff members from the school stood up to search for who threw the bottle. My crush and his friends quickly sat down. A couple hours elapsed and within that time, my crush and I exchanged glances. Eventually my crush walked over to one of his black friends and whispered something in his ear. His friend then turned to me and asked me "Um what's your favorite color?". I simply said "Um". All of his friends laughed at this. My crush then whispered into his ear again. His friend turned to me again and said "Hey, what's up?". I said, "Nothing much." I then got up to walk over to my friends and sit with them. My crush's black friend followed me and said, "So um, my friend [name of crush] wants to know if you can give him head." For the protection of the individuals of my past, I will not mention any names, but he gave me my crush's first and last name. Being the innocent girl that I was, at the moment, I was unsure of what that statement meant, so I thought I misheard him, and I simply asked, "What?" Then he said, "Never mind" and walked off. As soon as he walked off, I understood what my crush was asking for and I felt completely insulted.

To many people something like this would not be traumatizing to them, but you have to understand that I came from schools where I faced verbal abuse, a house where I faced verbal abuse, and many other places where I faced verbal abuse. Just when I thought that I wouldn't have to face verbal abuse in the form of sexual harassment, I did unexpectantly from a person that I was drawn to most in that school. I was young and vulnerable. Another black girl commonly regarded as an anomaly, just trying to find her place in society. I treated everyone well, I tried to dress modestly, I tried to speak articulately, I did many dainty habits like crossing my legs when I sat, and I often avoided slurring my words. I did everything possible to be accepted, so when someone that I was fond of and was seeking validation from mistook me as a whore, it hurt. In fairness to him, I'm not going to say for sure that race was a factor in how he treated me, but I couldn't help but notice that he'd go with a different girl to almost every school dance, and all of them were white. One was half Hispanic and half white, but she was white passing. To further the hurt, the majority of the guys in that school pretty much only took white girls to school dances. Even a black guy, that I was attracted to in my freshman year, was chanting in the hallways, "Finna ask a white girl to prom. Finna ask a white girl to prom." Virtually, all of the black girls who went to school dances took people from outside of the school to escort them, and I was one of them. I could have handled it better if the black guys at the school, paid me more attention. But they didn't. A few times when I simply said hi to them in the hallways, they'd either ignore me or half speak. Some were even flakey. Some showed interest to lead me on, and then acted like jerks. In hindsight, I would have tried harder to find more self-fulfillment and not focus so much on what other people thought of me, but I was a 15-year-old girl with a fragile heart, and I truly didn't know how to handle it.

This hurt was furthered by guys who would lead me on. One white boy, that I initially did not find attractive, constantly tried to talk to me. Whenever I passed him by, he'd smile and slowly swing his arm in front of me in an "after you!" gesture. However, I was skeptical about him. I noticed that he'd be whispering to his friends about me. They'd be grinning and occasionally sometimes giggling. One day, one of his friends walked up to my advanced math partner and said "Aye [math partner's name], F*** that!" My math partner laughed and said "Yeah." I was willing to give them the benefit of the doubt that they weren't referring to me, until time progressed, and things became even clearer.

For a few months the young man stopped talking to me, until eventually we were walking back to our seats after solving a geometry question on the board, and he flipped me off. I was very surprised by this since I had literally done nothing to him. Even more surprisingly, it only escalated from there. I was escorted to my spring formal by a very friendly black guy from another school. Even though this young gentleman was a very kind guy, no one was really interested in him. He was a junior in high school and still bought Pokon cards, he shook hands with kids his age, and in general, he was regarded as an outcast. I was not interested in him either, but I needed someone to escort me to the dance. Looking back on it now, I feel like a jerk because I was basically using him. I should have either given him a fair chance, found someone else to take me to the dance, or not have gone to the dance at all.

Nonetheless, he took me to my spring formal, and we actually had a fantastic time. Unbeknownst to him, the flakey boy from my advanced math class, who we'll call creeper for comedy relief, was eyeing us the majority of the time. Since the dance floor was crowded, my date pulled me away from the middle of the dance floor, and we slow danced away from the crowd. After a few minutes, we headed back to the middle of the dance floor, and I saw the creeper's three friends standing away from the crowd eyeing us. Strangely enough, creeper was not with them and was dancing with his girlfriend. Moments later, when creeper's girlfriend was not around, creeper appeared to be in a state of rage, and one of his friends was holding him back from walking in MY direction. Creeper angrily snatched his arm away and nearly blew up. Whether or not his tantrum was his anger from his friends spying on me and my date upon his request and reporting what they saw back to him, I'll never completely know, but I can definitely say that that is plausible.

You would think it would stop there, but it didn't. Less than a week later, my advanced geometry class was working on an outdoor project. Creeper and his friend then started sexually harassing me indirectly through my math partner, who we'll call "Ginger's partner". As they walked past us, creeper shouted, "Aye 'Ginger's partner' have you had sex yet?". My jaw dropped. Seconds later creeper's friend shouted, "Aye 'Ginger's partner', boobs, sex, boobs, sex, boobs, sex!" Minutes later creeper shouted "Aye whaddup 'Ginger's partner', or should I say dickster!". I was appalled. I was also hurt. I couldn't understand what I did to deserve to be treated in this way. I always dressed and behaved modestly so much to the point of where people would say that I'm super innocent. Some have even referred to me as a goody two shoes or a square, so why was I being treated like a whore by multiple boys? The only assumption that I could make was that they felt uncomfortable being attracted to a black girl knowing that it would be frowned upon by friends and family, so they had to turn their attraction into something sexual, so that it would be accepted. Based on other real-life stories that I heard from other black women, many of them had gone through the same thing with other young white males in high school. Interestingly enough, college was a different story for some of these black women, including myself.


Chapter Four: The Black Experience


After transferring from my first predominantly white high school, I moved to a predominantly black high school where I received a continuance of mixed messages from conflicted white males and a complete abandonment from black males. Different school, same storyline. Everybody wanted the white girls including the black guys. Often times, when black women were looked at, it was typically to use us. Since I refused to ever be used sexually and remained a virgin up until marriage, guys tried to use me emotionally. They'd act interested one day, and once they thought they had my attention, they would be uninterested. It hurt like heck, but it awakened me to the importance of shielding myself with a layer of protection when it came to romantic relationships.

My parents were disgusted by the fact that I was interested in dating both black and nonblack men. My mother, thinking that she could convert me, gave me an ultimatum when it came to college. Either I could go to a historically black college or university for all four years of college, or I could go to a traditional college near my hometown, stay on the dorms two of the four years, and commute back and forth from home the other two years. The only way out of this ultimatum was to get into an Ivy League school or a top tier school. If that wasn't bad enough, I wasn't able to pick my own major. Every single major that I suggested to my mom was shut down. She said that my only option was to either be a STEM major, accounting major, or an education major. Since my parents were extremely strict, and it was taking a toll on me, I knew that I didn't want to continue living with them if I had any other options. For this reason, I reluctantly agreed to attend an HBCU for college. Since this was considered to be one of the best HBCU's in the country, I thought I had made the right decision, but I didn't. While I learned a lot from this institution, I was treated terribly. My summer internship there was actually where I was treated best. The girls occasionally tried to include me, but after I was one of three people to win an award during a competition, I received cold jealous treatment by many of the girls in the program. After this brief six-week internship, I returned home with only a few weeks left until I had to fly back out of state to return to school. During this period, I wanted the chance to enjoy what little was left of my summer, but my mom still stood in the way of that from time to time. Shortly, after winning a second-place award from the research competition at my internship and winning a first-place award in a national speech competition, my mom pushed me to go to an event for my college that I would be attending that was held in a major city in our state. I did not want to go because I never fit well in black environments. Often times, my friendliness was perceived as a weakness, and in addition to this, many times people saw me as simply not relatable. I didn't listen to trap music, I never spoke in Ebonics, I never watched black themed shows like "Empire" or "Real Housewives of Atlanta", etc. As difficult as it is to say this, with the exception of some of my friends, I had nothing in common with my black peers, and in all honesty, I still don't. I knew before the event even happened that I wouldn't be well received. My mom didn't care about my feelings nor did my mom pay any attention to what the event was truly going to be about. She kept saying that it was a networking event and that I should go. I didn't want to go because I didn't even want to go to that college to begin with. My mom yelled at me and spoke very sternly to me for even questioning her judgement, so unfortunately on that day, I was going to the unrequired school event instead of going to Six Flags with my aunt.

Everything happened exactly how I said it would. People greeted me but had very little to say. I felt uncomfortable the whole time because no one was nice, and guess what? There was no networking at all. I felt angry and frustrated that I was forced to waste my time. Once I got home, my mom asked me about the event. I explained how I tried to build rapport with the other girls at the event, but how they were all funny acting and how the same scene plays out in every black environment that I go into. My mom basically said that I was making her concerned and told me to pray that God would send me a black man and that my preference would be for black men. I told her that I would pray that God would send me whoever he had for me and that I gave everyone an equal shot. My mother then raised her voice saying, "NO! NO! We're not giving everyone an equal shot! NO! If God sends you someone that's not black, that's different, but let God know that your PREFERENCE is for a black man." When I refused to pray this, my mom spoke to me with rage in her eyes saying, "Well, that's really sad Ginger!". I then responded to my mom saying "Mom, you're treating interracial relationships as if they're a sin. Where in the Bible does it say that your preference has to be for your own race?" My mom then responded, "I don't know, but I do know that God didn't want the Jews mixing with the Gentiles!!!" I then responded, "Yeah, but that was because of religion." Since my mom did not really know what else to say, I left the conversation uneasy and went to my room, but feeling like I had a duty to my mom to fulfill her request, I came back to her in minutes. I prayed her prayer with her as she told me to do. God did not answer that reluctant prayer.

After starting my first year in college at a predominantly black all girls school, I truly felt like I was missing out since there were rarely handsome males in my classes, not to mention, the few handsome males that I did see on campus often overlooked me. Even a male that was assigned to be my "brother" from the all black male school next door was very withdrawn when forced to interact with me. Although we were supposed to stay connected all four years, we barely even texted each other. I wasn't the only woman on campus who thought ill of the males from the nearby university. Many women complained about being raped, assaulted, verbally abused, disrespected, and disregarded by the men of the nearby campus. Please let me say that years later I have a good friend from this school who is an outstanding person, but unfortunately, this is not the norm. The women at my previous college were go getters. They were extremely hard working and committed to exceling. Many of them are now working for fortune 500 companies in Corporate America. Some work as realtors, doctors, engineers, educators, etc. Most have even furthered their education by attaining a PhD or Master's Degree. In short, these young women accomplished their goals. Well, they actually accomplished most of their goals excluding one of their most important goals. Finding their dream black spouse.
         If you have seen the movie "Something New", then you probably remember the opening scene. Kenya stands in front of her handsome black soon to be husband. She's wearing a beautiful wedding gown and is next to her friends who are wearing their matching bridesmaid gowns. All of her family and friends are there. Throughout this scene, majestic music is playing only to be stopped by the harsh sound of an alarm. All of a sudden, all of her friends and family flee. The pastor to be marrying her and her fiancflees, and her dream black husband immediately flees the scene never to return again. Suddenly, Kenya wakes up at the sound of her alarm clock and accepts this fantasy for all it really was. A dream.


Chapter Five: The Dating Pool

Although a lot of the people at my first college institution were definitely academically inclined, they were strictly not morally inclined even though the institution prided itself on being a Christian organization. As implied in the previous chapter, the brother school next door was the same way. Ultimately, my freshman year was a nightmare. I didn't fit in at all. I was assigned to a party dorm, but I never partied once in my entire college life. I was forced to hear trap music with profanities, a disregard for the law, and completely degrading messages for women. I was in disgust. Things didn't get any better until my sophomore year, and it was NOT because of the school itself. One of the friends that I made in the institution introduced me to a dating app that she used to meet very handsome men that otherwise would have overlooked her. She said that men of all races approached her on here and she felt like a queen because of the fact that so many men were chasing after her. This excited me greatly because I rarely ever got approached, and never was approached by men that I actually found attractive.

Once I downloaded the app, I was utterly shocked by how many likes I was getting right away. I conversed with several very attractive men. I literally felt like one of the most beautiful girls in the world. While this validation felt much needed at the time, it gradually diminished when I realized that most of the men were only looking for one thing on the app. After wasting one month with a guy who lessened our conversations immensely because I wouldn't have sex with him, I decided to give up on the app and felt unappreciated once again. Needless to say, the overwhelming majority of the men on the app were not looking for a committed relationship. Since I was only interested in having a monogamous committed relationship with celibacy until marriage, most of the men said deuces. One of the few men that I somewhat connected with gave me an interesting, laughable experience that I talked about even a few years later. I met a white guy who was very flirtatious with me. It was my first real date in my hometown, and my Mom and Dad insisted that they come on the date because I met this young man online and he could be a serial ax murderer and a rapist. My parents said that they'd be on the date with me but out of sight. The date was at a movie theater. My parents moved to the very back of the theater during the date so that the young man wouldn't even know that they were there. My date came around 20 to 30 minutes late! While we were watching the movie, he put his arm around me and I laid my head on his chest, knowing that my parents were probably watching. He eventually leaned in for a kiss. We kissed for around 30 seconds while I succeeded in holding back any laughter as my parents probably watched! After the movie, my date and I said goodbye, and I eventually met up with my parents. I asked them what they saw, and they refused to tell me. This certainly made me laugh. While I thought that this was comical at the time, this gave way to a very dark interaction with my mom.

A few days later, my mom knew I was hanging out with a black male friend of mine who my Mom and Dad repeatedly tried to get me to date since my sophomore year in high school. Although he was an attractive young man, we weren't compatible, and he was extremely shy. Once the day arrived that me and my friend were going to see a movie together and grab a bite to eat at Portillo's, my mom tried to force me into straightening my hair. When I asked her why, she basically explained that more men would find me attractive if my hair were straightened. I explained that the white guy that I went to the movies with found me attractive regardless, and she stated "You don't have to bring him up. I don't care about him. I wouldn't touch him with a 10-foot pole!" She also repeatedly referred to him as a fat white boy who only wanted me for sex otherwise, he would have showed up on time. She then said that if I straightened my hair, I could probably meet a nice black guy. I then asked her if my sister's husband was a "nice black guy". My sister was pressured into marrying him because he was a black engineer with a college degree. I'm not going to go into depth on what went wrong in the marriage, but there was infidelity and abuse that eventually resulted from her husband. In fairness, however, my sister involved our parents way too much in their marriage and allowed them to control almost every aspect of their marriage which probably is what triggered this anger and resentment that my brother in law felt towards both my parents and my sister. However, the abuse and infidelity did not occur until long after my mother and I had this conversation. At the time, there were really horrible arguments between my mother and my brother-in-law, and both of my parents made me believe that he was a foul person. Little did I know that they caused much of the chaos that arose between the four of them. In response to my question to my mom, she threatened to talk to my Dad to ultimately take vengeance on my words. Ultimately, I didn't have to straighten my hair that day since I explained that with the products and build up that were in it, I couldn't straighten it at the time. However, I truly had to argue my case, but ultimately while I was at 20 years of age, my mom forced me to eventually wear it straightened and down for two weeks out of every month, and I had no choice but to comply.

Fast forward around a year, I ended up dating multiple guys of different races who seemed to have a serious interest in me. For one month, I dated a half Italian half Mexican man who was incredibly sweet and had a huge heart, but I eventually had to cut it short due to our stark contrast in our devotion to Christ. I also met multiple other men who were black, white, Latino, and Asian who seemed extremely interested, but were not on the same page as me biblically. Eventually, while I was in the dating pool, my standards increased substantially, and I firmly decided that I was only going to date someone who I knew I could be happily married to. At the time, I told myself that whoever this individual was, he needed to have consistent weekly church attendance, tithe at least 10 percent of all his gross income, almost never use profanity, and commit to celibacy throughout the duration of our relationship until marriage. Much to my surprise, this weeded out a ton of guys who would've been bad candidates for me. Also, while my parent's actual intentions for doing the following actions remain somewhat unknown, they played a major role in me getting out of relationships where there were both men who met this criteria and men that didn't. Looking at it in hindsight, I do have to speculate whether or not my parents would have taken these same actions had these men been black. Unfortunately, one unforgettable truth remains. My Mom and Dad repeatedly tried to separate me from my now husband, and this was almost entirely a result of him not being black and not having a degree.


Chapter 6: Coming out of the Dating Pool and into My Marriage with a Fight

I will never forget the day when I first met the love of my life, the answer to my years of prayer and hopeful thinking, and the missing piece of myself. I had hurt in the heart for years because I felt like I would never find him. However, we can't predict how God answers prayers, nor can we control when he answers them. We met in one of the most unexpected periods of time. During the Covid 19 pandemic. For well over one year, I was not allowed to enter into a building, eat fast food, or go on any vacations. This is because I was still living with my parents. In all fairness, it was my mother's ultimate decision and my Dad simply followed along to avoid conflict. While I felt like I was seriously missing out, after over nine months of social distancing, it happened. While I was viewing men who liked my profile, my now husband commented on one of my pictures and said "Cute" with a smiley face emoji. I then very eagerly visited his page and was instantly attracted to him. I wouldn't call it love at first sight, but I certainly felt enamored! On his profile, it said that he traveled to Mount Rushmore in one weekend. I remember thinking to myself "A guy on the go who isn't afraid to drive a crazy long amount of time...I LOVE IT!!!" I knew instantly if he and I were to date that we'd probably have a blast together. Well, that certainly held true, but I had a blast with him even long before we dated. After responding back to his message saying "Thank you! How are you doing?", we had an endless conversation. It seemed like every day we were drawing closer and closer to each other. He'd send me the sweetest texts in the morning saying that he hopes that I have a phenomenal day. He told hilarious jokes and made me laugh like no one on this planet. After just a little over three short months, I knew that I was in love with him, and I came to find out much later that it was around that same time that he was in love with me too.
         I told my parents about him, but they were not very happy. I knew, as with the previous guys that I talked to, that their issues with him were based on two very superficial reasons. Number one: he wasn't African American, and number two: he didn't have a degree. I overlooked both of these things because one: I am attracted to all races, and two: a degree means very little as long as you have a reliable flow of income coming in with job security, and you are earning your income in a moral and legal way. Unfortunately, most of my family fought me tooth and nail about this. What is ironic is that my family used to always tell me that I would be horribly discriminated against if I ever married into a white family, but they were the ones always being discriminatory in virtually every interracial relationship that I've been in and were excessively discriminatory to my now husband.

My husband is half white and half Arab, however he has always been treated as if he was white whenever he interacted with African Americans who happened to be racist. His mother was actually married to a black man. He was conceived from nonconsenting abuse between an unknown white male and his Arab mother. All of his siblings were half black which already made him feel like an outsider. Although his siblings have actively tried to include him, there is no bridging the chiasm that formed when his mother gave him up for adoption and sent him away as an infant. Since he had a severe heart condition called aortic stenosis which was caused by his mother's heavy drug and alcohol abuse, he had to go into the foster care system. His birth family wanted to take care of him, but they could not afford the expenses. While my husband was in the foster care system, he was the only nonblack individual there and was consequently abused physically and even molested. None of the black children were treated this way. He was the only one. While we easily ignore racial abuse done by minorities, it is just as traumatic and hurtful as white supremacy.

While my heart breaks for my husband, I am so happy that he got adopted by a wonderful woman. My mother-in-law raised him in a very safe and loving environment where he never had to fear having a hand raised against him or fear experiencing mistreatment of any kind. She was extremely patient with him. She also helped and still helps both him and I in any way she can. My husband was adopted by her at age three and lived with her until age 27. Since my husband is Middle Eastern, he has been called racial slurs by both black and white people, followed by police, and even racially profiled in an airport. What's interesting is that my husband pretty much felt like me: We didn't feel belonging anywhere. This feeling was exacerbated when my family realized how committed we were to each other. Early on, during the tine that we were dating, my parents pressured me into breaking up with him. They had done this before with another guy that I had dated. However, there was one thing that distinguished my now husband from all of the guys that I have ever dated. He wouldn't budge. My Mom and Dad had done everything they could to drive him and I away from each other. My Dad made extremely hurtful and rude comments to him during the pressured break up. My mom forced him to get covid tests almost every time he and I met up and did not require this of me. My mom demanded that I had a curfew, and I could rarely be out past 8:30 p.m. This was all at ages 24 to 25. In spite of this pure insanity, my husband would not give up on us. In fact, it only made our relationship stronger. During the two break ups that we had (one was caused by my parents, and one was caused by me), we had learned so much about each other and ourselves. There was tremendous growth both spiritually and in maturity for both of us.

While my parents wanted us to separate, my mother accidentally said something that subsequently made me decide to marry him. My mother advised me to make a list of reasons why I shouldn't marry him, and if those reasons couldn't be resolved, I was to not marry him. I crafted this list of reasons pensively. Fast forward a few months, I had forgotten that I had even made the list. I prayed to God to tell me whether or not I should marry him, and almost instantly while I was flipping through a notebook, I came across my forgotten list. I looked at every problem that my husband initially had, and soon realized that all of these were no longer problems. There was my answer.

Chapter 7: Moving out and Moving in


I had full intentions of staying with my parents until the day that I got married, but things had gotten so difficult at home that I couldn't take it anymore. My Mom required me to buy a new car within a few months otherwise I would have to move out. She preferred for me to buy a new car that she approved of and for me to take out a loan. My now husband and I thought this was ridiculous, especially when she was the one who refused to let me even drive or get my permit until age 21. Adding to this frustration, each day I had to wash everyone's dishes that were in the sink, I had to vacuum all of the places in the house with carpeting once a week, I had to sweep all of the tile and wooden floors at least twice a week, I had to clean the countertops and the table almost daily, I had to clean some of the bathrooms at least twice a week, I had to clean the stove at least weekly, and more. The house was four bedrooms and five baths. It was huge. When we hosted celebrations, it was a nightmare. I had to clean almost nonstop for over 12 hours, sleep, and then clean almost nonstop for at least another 8 or 9 hours. I had quick breaks where I could briefly eat, but I pretty much cleaned until the guests arrived, and my mom did little to nothing. In addition to making me a live-in maid, controlling when I got to see people that I was dating, and giving me a curfew, my mom made me pay her $550 a month in rent. I never got any of this money back. This went on for around three and a half years. One day, I had had enough.

I begged my mom to allow me to go with my boyfriend to a Christian Conference that was Friday through Sunday. She agreed to this only on the condition that I complete all of my chores prior to Friday. Since I worked for 40 hours each week, I also cleaned everyday after work until I was forced to go to bed at 11 p.m. I had to go to bed at 11 p.m. every night since my manic episode at age 20. I tried to explain to my mom that this wasn't necessary, but she would always remind me of how I was diagnosed with bipolar disorder, and how she couldn't go through that episode that I had again. For years, I was seldom allowed to eat chocolate due to its caffeine content, and if I was caught out of the bed past 11 p.m., I was often punished. However, this week, I managed to get all of the cleaning done and still get in bed before 11 p.m. She allowed me to go to the conference, but on the second night that changed. One of the pastors made a statement saying that it was 2023 and that covid was over. He told us to move in closer to each other. Even though I would often wear a mask and was wearing one in church, this wasn't good enough for my mom. She called me in church. Embarrassed, I immediately pulled out my phone and chose the option "Can I call you later?", she responded with a text basically saying that if I can move to a seat away from the crowd, do that. The church was packed. If my boyfriend and I got up, we wouldn't be able to sit anywhere. I figured that her text didn't require a response, but once I got home, she was ticked. She basically told me that I was putting the whole house in danger and that I couldn't go to the last day of the conference even after all of my hard work cleaning. I was feeling rage. I complained about the unfairness of the situation and told her that I planned on marrying my boyfriend, so she didn't have to worry about anyone being endangered. She then grew even more upset and got my Dad to try to intervene. While my mom and I were arguing, my Dad screamed at me (so loudly to the point of where my mom jumped) to shut up. I then argued with my mom again and he screamed "SHUT UP!" again and told me that as long as I was living in this house, I had to abide by their rules. To add even more insult to injury, after each time that he told me to shut up he would say "Now, you can speak." I had had enough, and I told them that I'd rather not say anything because I would be moving in with my now husband. My Dad said I could do that, but that it would be very hard for me to move back in with them. After I called my boyfriend to pick me up, I started packing all of my things and my Dad insisted on handling my boxes. I repeatedly refused because I knew that my Dad was furious with me and I didn't want him to purposely damage my work equipment in the boxes. After he sided with my mother in everything and had little shame in antagonizing me, I knew that I couldn't trust him. For this reason, out of anger, I said, "You can move them, but just so you know, damaging someone's property is a federal offense." My Dad then said that now he wasn't going to help me at all, and I said, "Good, that's what I wanted." Since my parents wouldn't even let my boyfriend in the house that day, I carried the boxes down the stairs over to my boyfriend and he carried them to the car. Eventually, I was all packed up and I told my boyfriend the entire story.


Chapter 8: A Free in Price and Free in Choice Wedding

After living with my boyfriend and his mom for a few months, we immediately got married in a ceremony with just myself, my husband, and the pastor. We didn't invite anyone because we knew that the more people we invited, the more money we'd have to spend that we didn't have, and if we invited a few people but not others, it would spark jealousy. We chose to do the wedding free of cost because my parents paid for my sister's wedding, but they refused to pay for mine. While I usually don't agree with unmarried couples living together, I would like to add that my husband and I were both celibate in our entire relationship until our wedding night after we got married.

I thought that me being married and out of my parents' house would be the end of the relentless control of my mother, but it wasn't. Initially, my mother presented her control as simply giving advice, but it was ultimately affecting my relationship with my husband. Also, almost every time that I got off the phone with my mother, my anxiety would skyrocket and she would be completely oblivious to this. Even if she saw it, she ignored it and continue to exert her control if allowed. One day, these manipulation tactics completely spiraled out of control. My mother called me on the phone asking me to clean her house for eight hours straight for an event that she would.be hosting. She offered to pay me $200 but stated that it was no big deal, and she would hire a maid if I was unable to do it. I at first said that I could do this, but to let me check with my husband first. My husband initially said that he had to think about it, but eventually told me that it was inappropriate for me to clean my mother's house when I am a grown adult living in a different house with my husband, and we're almost an hour away from where my parents live. He also added that there are three grown adult's living in my mother's house (one of them being her), and everyone in that house is able bodied and not elderly. Also, if my mom couldn't clean the house, she has more than enough money to hire a maid. I agreed with my husband on this, and I eventually ended up explaining this to my mom. My mother was furious. She said that she had done so much for me and that when I was recovering from my manic episode, that she nursed me back to health. This was an incorrect statement. When I was diagnosed with bipolar disorder in 2017, I was hospitalized for one night and prescribed medication. Once I moved out of my college dorm down south and back to my hometown to attend college nearby, I fed, showered, and clothed myself. I also remember to take my medication over 99% of the time. I explained this to my mom, and then she responded by saying that she nursed me back to health because she'd often do things like remind me to take my medication. Then she stated that she always helped me. This statement infuriated me, because my mother was not very loving, and she was most involved when it came to drilling me about my grades and my career. Back in high school, when I told my mother about me considering suicide, she was initially very sympathetic and often gave advice. But eventually, after bringing it up a few more times (due to the verbal sexual harassment and racism that I had to face at school, in addition to all of the other issues I was dealing with), my mother said to me (with my Dad sitting near her) that if I was going to kill myself, I could do it, but don't do it at the house. After having this flash back during the argument with my mother, I asked her "Were you helping me when you told me that if I was going to commit suicide, I could do it, but just don't do it at the house?!" Without any hesitation or any explanation, my mother responded, "YES! Yes, I was!" At this moment, I realized that I could no longer trust, confide, or even talk to my mother, because she is toxic. I told my husband about this, and he was also disgusted. Eventually, we both decided that we would keep our distance. After this incident, my mother invited me to activities almost as if she had said nothing wrong, but I always respectfully declined with an excuse not to go. However, my mom responded similarly but to more of an extreme. She did not call to check on my husband and I during our very long road trip that was almost 24 hours total of a drive, even though she was the same one who said that we shouldn't do long road trips because she didn't want us to get into a deadly crash. She didn't tell me when my grandmother in her late 80's fell and ended up in the hospital. Even considering all of this, I was still willing to let bygones be bygones when she called me one day to check in on me. She said that my grandmother had a negative vision about me and that they wanted to make sure that everything was okay. I thanked her for checking in on me and I revealed all of the reasons why I was upset with her: not checking in on me during my trip, not telling me about my grandmother falling and ending up in the hospital, and getting mad at me for not cleaning her house for eight hours straight. She said that she was mad that I could visit my godmother who was in Florida at the time, but I couldn't visit her. I visited my mother often until after she tried to get me to be her maid again. She also said that she was so upset about her mother falling that she forgot to tell me. I don't believe this. Almost everyone in our close family was in that hospital room, except for me and my husband close to the time when the incident first happened, so I just don't believe that she didn't notice that I wasn't there. She then accused me of only visiting my grandmother to get money from her, because she said that every time that I visit her, the money in her bank account decreases. I explained that she offers the money to me, and even when I've said that she didn't have to do that, she's given it to me anyway. My mom and I got off the phone because she had to get her hair done, but she ended up calling me back again. I explained to her that I was very offended by her accusation, especially considering the fact that I've taken my grandmother to church with us twice and offered to take her to church with us multiple times, even though many times she was unable. I also visited her multiple times. I made it a habit of calling her a few times a month, and even offered for her to live with my husband and I which she kindly declined. After going into this detail, I explained to my mother that the issues between the two of us will simply not be resolved. I also mentioned that I stopped talking to my mom because of the conversation we had regarding her telling me that I could kill myself just not at the house. I then finished the phone call by saying that a lot of people have told me that my mental health and maturity have gotten much better ever since I stopped talking to her, and because of that, I was going to cut that conversation short. I then ended the call saying "I love you. God Bless you. I've got to go", and I hung up.
         I have never stood up to my mom like that before, but it was the time to do that, and truthfully speaking, considering the fact that she was affecting my mental health, it should've happened a long time ago. Truthfully speaking, I am at peace with the fact that she and I are no longer talking. I want a relationship with her, but if it can't be a healthy one, I don't want a relationship with her at all. I don't plan on having my kids around the family on my side either. Something that always stuck with me was the time in high school where my Dad told me that if I had kids that were a product of an interracial marriage and they looked very whitish, he wouldn't want to be seen with them. I was willing to let this go because I thought that he had changed, but he hadn't. He said that my husband was a loser because he was a bus driver and that our relationship would fall apart. He was cruel to my husband over a phone conversation where both he and my mom tried to permanently break us up.

Chapter 9: Let me Pick your Brain

To those of you who are considering entering an interracial relationship but are afraid of what your family or friends might say, please remember that if your happiness is truly their priority and the person that you are interested in makes you happy, they would want you to be with this person regardless of skin color. At the end of the day, the choices you make affect YOU, not them. They are overstepping boundaries if they are trying to control your love life, and if you let them control your love life, you are consenting to them stealing the joy and peace that you were trying to attain in your own life. Never be afraid to cut someone off when they try to steal both your joy and your peace. Please don't pass up a great person because you're trying to find another person who makes you just as happy but in a different skin color. That's shallow, and that's the kind of superficiality that often creates single men and women of all races, some of whom are bitter because they know that they may never be with the right person.

Fifty percent of all marriages end in divorce. Sometimes I have to ask myself, "Was this because these individuals limited themselves in who they picked because they used unnecessary criteria as dealbreakers?" Then I have to ask myself, "Who inspired these dealbreakers? Parents? Friends? Society?" I will never be able to answer those questions about any of those said people, but I want to ask you, the reader, to ask those questions about yourself. If you are single, are you using unfair standards such as the education that someone has, the job title, the car they drive, or the skin color they are. I can say from experience, that once I stopped caring about those things, I allowed the right man to enter in my life, and I have never in my life felt more like my authentic self. To those of you who have children, how would you respond if they married someone without a degree? How would you respond if they married someone of another race? Are you currently advising them on what your version of the ideal spouse looks like? When doing this, are you focusing on factors that actually matter such as loyalty, commitment, and compatibility? Or are you telling them that even if someone has all of these great qualities and more, if they have too much melanin or lack thereof, they shouldn't be marrying your child? I'm not trying to make anyone feel badly about themselves because these were questions that I had to ask myself as I was growing and developing. The ultimate truth is that we all have prejudices that divide us. However, the Bible says we are all one in Christ. Which voice will you listen to?


About the Author:

Ginger R. is a Christian self-published author who writes both fiction and nonfiction. She started writing poems and songs at a young age. She was told that she had a very creative mind and would make a good storyteller. Ginger knew that she wanted to tell fictional stories, but also, her own real-life story. This current book that you just read was a nonfiction story on impactful events in Ginger's life. Her first book, however, was a fictional story called "Curing the Pain in Forgiving Them" which challenges readers to forgive everyone who has hurt them as Christ has forgiven them. After writing this book, Ginger knew that there were more books to be written and powerful messages to be established. She reflected on her own personal life problems and zoned in on the ones that she had conquered.

Ginger R. slowly grew to go against the grain in her family. In spite of being raised in a prejudice family, she has dated and talked to men of all races who were from all backgrounds. This gave her great insight in the realm of interracial dating. As a young girl, when she told her parents about her interest in boys of different races, she was always told that she would be most likely to have a successful relationship if she was with another African American. Ginger, however, decided to do her own research and found a shocking statistic: black women with white men are 44% less likely to divorce than all other marriages. This called everything that her family had always taught her into question. After going through challenges with her family during the multiples years in which she dated interracially, she realized something. She'd only have a shot at a healthy happy relationship if she made her own decisions. Her parents sought to control her sister's relationship too, even though she was married to another African American. Throughout Ginger's life she endured constant emotional abuse and psychological manipulation from her parents. While this was painful to endure, Ginger was able to get out of her parent's house to be with her now husband whom her parents vehemently opposed. Ginger is now focused on taking control of her own life and helping others who have struggled with some of the same issues through a powerful tool: writing.