The other day my boyfriend, who is melanin challenged, was speaking to his mother about me.  Although she was aware we were friends, you (and I for that matter), can imagine her surprise when he referred to me as his “girlfriend.”

I didn’t press him about it but I do wonder if she said, “OH NO! You can’t date a Black girl” or if it was more along the lines of, “BUT SHE’S A NIGGER!”

Whatever her reaction, I found myself filled with a weird mix of hurt, anger and understanding as he relayed parts of their conversation.  The reality is, my family isn’t too keen on my potentially bringing a non-black person home.  It’s one of those unspoken “no-no’s.”

See, my family is peculiar.  We’re the most non-judgmental, judgmental people in the world.  I grew up in a family where I never heard words like nigger, nigga, good hair, bad hair, high-yella, red-bone, nappy, etc, etc.  On the same token, I also didn’t hear rhetoric about how good Jesus is, the Black man being God, The Struggle or The Movement.  We’re as wheat bread as they come but in spite of the lack of racial undertones and nuances, I somehow knew that in the realm of dating, white guys and women were off limits.

So when my boyfriend told me that his mom wasn’t too keen on him dating a fabulous Black woman, my initial reaction of hurt and anger towards her veiled racism was supplanted by the realization that my family don’t like him neither! I can’t fault this woman for feeling the way she does given that my mom is probably turning over in her grave as I type.

So why does it feel as if her bias is worse than that of my family?  Why do I fear that family gatherings at his house will be strange and uncomfortable with not-so-subtle racist comments where mine will be as they’ve always been?

Given all of the hulabaloo regarding Supreme Court nominee Sotomayor statement that her experiences as a minority give her insights that her White male counterparts can never have, I’m sure some White folks wonder why there is a perception that racism on the part of minorities is ok.  Racism in any form isn’t ok period but there are differences in how we argue our prejudices.

Imagine that you have two identical meals before you…same ingredients, same everything.  Both look extremely appetizing.  What if I tell you the meal on the left was made by a housewife and that the meal on the right was made by a world-renowned, award winning, critically acclaimed chef?  Which meal do you think will taste better?

Most would say the chef’s while acknowledging that the housewife’s version will probably be appetizing as well.   But why is it that without even knowing anything about the wife, we naturally assume that her meal is inferior?  Based on the chef’s credentials alone, we have in effect said that the housewife’s plate is less appetizing.

Like the housewife’s meal, White racists regard minorities as “less thans.”  It doesn’t matter that the housewife and the chef are one in the same…it doesn’t matter that we’re all human beings.  For a White racist, given the way the meals were presented, the one of the right is better.  It has to be.  White racism assumes superiority.  Minority racism typically levels the superiority.  In other words, “I’m Black or I’m a woman and I’m just as good if not better at this/that.”  There are however Black racists who think like White racists…it all sucks on some level.

The point is, overcoming a negative is more difficult than living up to an unjustified positive.  It’s far more difficult to squash a myth than to start one.  So I have to be everything that Blacks when portrayed in a negative light aren’t.  My boyfriend on the other hand just has to have voted for Obama and know more about Black culture than BET.  Ok, I’m over-simplifying but you get the point.

Now you’re probably wondering how this story ends as I’m still referring to dude as my boyfriend.  Well, turns out, we both come from some pretty good stock.  Each of our families has decided to pretend they’re ok with it and let it be.

His mom was actually cool about.  She had to pray on it but in the end, it’s about her son being happy and that’s what ultimately matters.  I’d like to think that my mom would’ve had the same reaction and although I’ll never truly know the answer to that, I’m sure that she would be happy that I’m happy.  I mean, dude is fine as hell!