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| Image courtesy of Essence.com |
Somewhere between graduating from college, earning my master’s and moving to Los Angeles, I stopped dating black men. This is interesting to me because I loved and cherished everything about the black man before moving to L.A. From his swagger, confidence and perspective, to his fathering abilities, his drive and overall presence--I was his number one fan, his supporter, his boo or ride or die chick. I was there – no questions asked. I was wrapped up in the comforts of black love. I could see nothing else but us. I could hear India Arie’s Brown Skin as I envisioned my black family. Then one day it was gone – vanished as if it never existed. My love for black men was replaced by distaste and anger. I wanted no part of him. I wasn’t interested.
As a black girl nerd, I have been faced with countless dating woes culminating in my dating outside of my race. On the surface, this looked as if I was being open-minded and letting go of unrealistic standards that many women hold onto but really I was dating outside of my race because I felt I couldn’t “connect” with black men. Ultimately, I started exclusively dating Hispanic men. A black man would surface here or there but there was no chemistry, no zsa zsa zsu. Most people would’ve chalked it up to not finding the right one but I didn’t. I began to feel dating a black man wasn’t my destiny. While dating outside of my race, I began to convince myself black men weren’t interested in me any longer. I began black-male-bashing, lamenting that I “didn’t get along with them”, that black love was dead. Movies like Love Jones and Brown Sugar even Think Like a Man seemed like mythical products of the Hollywood dream-making-machine. I grew cynical, hardened and closed-minded to my own kind. I’m embarrassed to admit that I even told my mom to expect biracial grandchildren. I blamed my new perspective on the harsh realities of life. I referenced countless articles that tracked the decline of black love, using it as textual evidence to support my bold claims. In the wake of Fruitvale Station and the Trayvon Martin case, I had abandoned black men, crossing the picket line to buy into society’s negative views of him.
Then one day, a guy responded to my online dating profile. As I looked at his picture I couldn’t tell if he was black or Hispanic but I responded anyway. Younger than me and a little too cute for my taste, I was still open to chatting with him via text. He sent me another picture of him from his cousin’s wedding and the verdict was in—he was black. Normally, I would’ve stopped talking to him immediately but this time I didn’t. I’m not sure why, maybe something in me was yearning for more so we kept talking. While texting one day, he told me how difficult working with whites and Hispanics had been for him and I jokingly replied, “OMG, you’re black!?” with which he replied, “LOL, yeah, that seems like a crime these days.” I smiled. He was right. Based on the temperature of our country, it was a crime to be a black man.
We continued talking; he was funny, smart and very laid back. Even when I told him I wasn’t looking for a FWB (Friends With Benefits) but for something more, he stuck around. Laughing with him was like a tiny bit of home and seeing that my family was 2,100 miles away, I was desperate for his conversation and perspective. I made fun of him for being younger than me and he made fun of my obsession with Harry Potter. It was effortless like Jill Scott’s song "Easy Conversation". That connection I was looking for showed up in an unexpected way and all because I let my guard down enough to appreciate him for who he was.
I realize the relationship between black men and women is strained. There’s a lot of hurt, mistrust and the taking on of societal views that has contributed to our fractured community. I know there are black women out there who haven’t left the black man’s side and I’m sorry to admit that I drifted away. However, in my journey I’ve gained some perspective—I’ve learned to let go of unrealistic expectations and fear. To me, this creates an opportunity to be a friend. I’m not advocating we go into relationships blind or without standards—more than anything, I’m encouraging myself and maybe someone else to take it easy on the black man and just be his friend. Instead of judging him, we should listen and laugh with him. Maybe it’s time to look past him not having a master’s degree in order to see what he does have. In the end, he has a hard road and this road seems harder than that of black women. We are living in an age where he can’t walk down the street without being stalked and murdered or ask police for help without being shot to death. Ultimately, I’m suggesting more compassion on both ends so we can begin to mend and heal in order to recapture what we once had.
