I had to read this a few times to unpack the social and internal commentary. This struck a chord with me:
“they really don’t get to be purely white women once they’ve been this unabashed about their muses and greatest loves…”
At age 13, my mother found a note in my drawer that my step sister mailed me. It said that a black boy my age who lived down the block from my dad’s house wanted to kiss me. I saved the note because I thought he was wonderful and this excited me! Kind, funny, sweet smile, and all us kids loved dancing in his family (The Jacksons) driveway to the radio booming from the garage. How delightful it would be to count him as my first kiss.
My mother forbade it, saying that no white boy would ever want to kiss me if they knew I kissed a black boy first. Like I would never be a purely white woman once I had been physically or emotionally touched by blackness. That turned into our first fight about race.
She took the issue to my dad saying I was no longer allowed to visit the Jackson family by penalty of visiting rights being revoked. Things got worse before they got better. Sadly, I never had the chance to kiss the Jackson boy.
Fortunately, my mother’s spirit evolved over time. And when I fell in love with a black man in my early 20’s, she did not object and even cried with me when he was diagnosed with cancer. For me, it’s not about being purely white or purely black, it’s about being purely humane. Thank you for the reminder and stroll down memory lane.
I had to read this a few times to unpack the social and internal commentary. This struck a chord with me:
“they really don’t get to be purely white women once they’ve been this unabashed about their muses and greatest loves…”
At age 13, my mother found a note in my drawer that my step sister mailed me. It said that a black boy my age who lived down the block from my dad’s house wanted to kiss me. I saved the note because I thought he was wonderful and this excited me! Kind, funny, sweet smile, and all us kids loved dancing in his family (The Jacksons) driveway to the radio booming from the garage. How delightful it would be to count him as my first kiss.
My mother forbade it, saying that no white boy would ever want to kiss me if they knew I kissed a black boy first. Like I would never be a purely white woman once I had been physically or emotionally touched by blackness. That turned into our first fight about race.
She took the issue to my dad saying I was no longer allowed to visit the Jackson family by penalty of visiting rights being revoked. Things got worse before they got better. Sadly, I never had the chance to kiss the Jackson boy.
Fortunately, my mother’s spirit evolved over time. And when I fell in love with a black man in my early 20’s, she did not object and even cried with me when he was diagnosed with cancer. For me, it’s not about being purely white or purely black, it’s about being purely humane. Thank you for the reminder and stroll down memory lane.