Something I realized about some people was that since they don’t consider me black, they will say anything in my presence. This particular scenario happened over a week’s period. I must tell you it tested my resolve. A manager and about two other female employees were sitting in the break room eating lunch. They made it a point to discuss their feelings about interracial relationships. I remember one woman who was vehement about her disgust with such relationships. I mean you should have seen the faces she made. You would have thought she was being made to eat baby poop just thinking about the idea of a black man dating a white woman. It was like not mixing the races was one of the Ten Commandments. She even almost said the word “nigger”, but caught herself when I looked over at her.
At the end of the week, I was still steaming silently. Quite frankly, I had had enough of that bloody conversation. All a brother wanted to do was eat his bloody lunch and mind his own business. The second I sat down and opened up my lunch box, there they were talking about some woman whose daughter was dating a black man. They were giving all sorts of reason why it was an abomination: God did not want it, such relationships would somehow dilute the race. Hell, they were talking as if dating a person of another race was incest. I remember thinking, “People do you realize where we are? We are in Wild and Wonderful. Don’t throw rocks if you live in a glass house.” After about five minutes, my head felt like it was going to burst. I blurted out, “I understand what you mean!”
The room got real quiet; you could have heard a gnat having a conversation with God. They looked at me, puzzled. Four white women, all red faced, waited for me to explain. One woman in the middle of chewing, her cheeks puffed out at the sides, looked like she was about to slap me. I stood up slowly and looked down at them. I remember thinking, “Damn, these are some ugly people. These are not the tourists I saw on the beach back home.” I snapped back to reality when one of the women cleared her throat impatiently.
“I would not want my son marrying any of you Yankee women. I see how you act when you come to the island, spreading your legs to every Dexter that smiles at you.” You should have seen the looks on their faces. The manager scoffed at me. “But you married one,” she pointed out. I looked at her as a small smile began to form on her face.
“I did, but she is not racist or as ugly as you old bats or your daughters. I would never let my son marry ugly.” She was almost purple-red with disbelief. How dare I say that their daughters were not good enough for my half-immigrant son?
Now this coming from a woman whose daughter was a lesbian. Strange enough, her daughter also hated mixed relationships. Now that is taking marrying someone like you to a whole new level. I often wondered if she would date a black woman. I mean the whole diluting-the-race-excuse thing would be null and void in her case. Her mother looked at me and shook her head. She could not respond. I guess she never expected to feel unworthy. Hey; she was the one who insisted on the separation of races. Now here she was faced with a new idea: the separation of nationality.