Why Does He Have To Be White Though?

It’s been a running joke in my family, despite the fact that I dated no one in high school while my older brother brought only white significant others into the house, that I would marry a white guy.

The joke started in middle school coincidentally when my hardcore skater boy phase began. My Chemical Romance posters covered my then too-pink-for-comfort walls and I played Tony Hawk Underground 1 and 2 religiously. It was while I was watching a Panic at the Disco! music video that my dad frowned and said “Olivia, please don’t bring one of these boys home.”

I found it hilarious, partly because I was living in Nebraska and the phrase “I don’t/would never date a black girl” might as well have been the slogan for state tourism, but mostly because I was too introverted to even think about dating. (My weekends consisted of telling friends my parents wouldn’t let me go to the movies with mostly guys, grabbing some kind of love-loss-death-vampire-horror novel, listening to MCR, writing crappy poetry, and crying myself to sleep. I was an artist in the making.)

But a part of me found the joke sad. I’ve always been extremely proud of my roots and I love the black family my parents created. I wanted to do the same.

Fast forward several years later and I’ve gotten past the shame of my skater phase and now have a sense of humor about it (although MCR is still so very important).

I was in the middle of boytalk with my girlfriend. We’ve both been talking to two white guys who strangely understand and can navigate discussions on marginalized people, specifically blacks, and especially black women. No, they are not of the ignorant “I love chocolate women” white boy variety. They genuinely understand these realities and recognize their position within it. As much as they understand, they don’t try and dismiss themselves from the filth of it all. They continuously check their privilege.

It’s a necessary skill that we shouldn’t pat them on the back for, but it’s also really hot.

That’s when my friend threw a fit. “Why do they have to be white though?”

It’s a valid question.

We both agreed that we don’t meet any black men on campus who fully understand these things, despite the fact that it’s vitally necessary for them to understand. Even black guy friends who discuss these issues with us will somehow flip the conversation to just black men, as if our experiences are secondary to theirs and male privilege doesn’t exist. It’s frustrating, but we stick around nonetheless.

“Black boys are so important.”

My friend couldn’t be more right. The sad thing is, I’ve never heard any black boy on my campus say how important black girls are. Why are we so ride-or-die for them, but they drop us from the very conversation we started? Why do we feel guilty just talking to white men, when they will date almost any woman of color before a black woman?

I think back to the joke my family started.

Why exactly is it so frowned upon for me to be in any kind of committed relationship with a white man? Is it only revolutionary when a black man commits to a white woman? Is it only a slave-master relationship when a black woman commits to a white man?

The truth is, we both understand the history of race in America, and we are aware of all the social implications made in interracial relationships, and although we know race itself to be a construct, the realities of this construct is very much real. So why do we still cringe at the thought of bringing a white boy home?

The bottom line is, we are too grown to care what people think. We will do what makes us happy in the end.

But damn.

Why does he have to be white though?

Olivia