Racism and My Love Life

Life is strange. That is the only way I can sum it up. It has been strange as far as I can recall. Things happen. I honestly get that. It’s just that things happen for no apparent reason and I cat figure out why and why we let them happen. I am not talking about scientific stuff like earthquakes, tornadoes and stuff like that. I am not talking about ghosts and paranormal stuff. No. I am talking about things that exist for no good reason and is never eliminated. I am talking about racism.

To me, racism should not even exist, but it does. It is hard to believe that there are some people who hate other people just because of the way they look. It makes no sense to me. I met thousands, maybe even millions of people who are different in appearance than I am and it never bothered me at all. So, they are different. So what? Apparently, this is an extremely bitter pill for some human beings to swallow.

At the time of this article, a madman—a professed racist—savagely executed numerous people with gunfire in New Zealand. Why? He felt that the folks who were different from him were a threat to the White race. What makes it so sad is that there are many who agree with him. On the opposite side of the race card, there are people of other colors, creeds, and locations who also feel that certain groups of people are a threat to them as well. Ironically stated, racism comes in all shapes and—no pun intended—colors.

So, why is racism a problem for my love life? Feel free to read on.

I am a 63-year-old, fairly healthy, single Black man live here in the city of New York, NY, the city that is so nice that they named it twice. Everyone who is anyone comes here. It is the center of all the activity in the world. I was born here, I love living here and I intend to die here, hopefully not any time soon. It is here where I met many people. I've enjoyed them all. I made no judgments on skin color, but I do judge on behavior. To me, friends and lovers can be found anywhere.

When it comes to finding love here in New York City, I can practically hear Dean Martin singing "Everybody Loves Somebody."

Everybody finds somebody someplaceThere's no telling where love may appearSomething in my heart keeps sayingMy someplace is here

Again, so, so true. One just doesn't know. That is where I come in. For me, my love life started in grammar school. They weren't really loves as opposed to infatuations. I liked this girl. I liked that girl and so on. I THOUGHT that I found the one I wanted to marry. Then, I discovered that I didn't. They were just passing fancies in my life. Nothing against any of them. They were nice, but definitely not for me.

It wasn't until I started high school did the door open for me. It was then when my eyes were opened. Prior to this, I confined myself to those ladies who were of my complexion or close to it. I met many new and outstanding people, many of whom are still my very friends to this day. Most, if not all, are white. The best thing about them is that they accepted me for who I am. That was and still is, very important to me. I surmised that if they could accept me, I should do the same to them. It was a great idea because it opened many doors for me.

It was in high school where I met two ladies who really changed my outlook as to the type of life I wanted for my future. I wanted happiness. I think I found it. I was open to all.

Both ladies were white and both were younger than I was. The first, when I met her, was a freshman while I was a junior. The second was in the same year as I was. Both were Italian as well.

Now, before you go running off spreading all sorts of falsehoods, allow me to make myself perfectly clear. I am not out to date just white women. I am out to date ANY woman as long as she is within my age range, single and open to dating me with the possibility of marrying me should I ask her. That is all. There is no hidden racial agenda on my part. When I went to high school, I saw that there were other experiences out there and that I needed to be much more perceptive to new perspectives.

With the first girl, the freshman named Rose, I found myself really liking her a great deal. Okay. Let me change that. I found myself being in love with her. All I could do is think of her. Because the technology wasn’t advanced to the point that we have today, there were only four ways for us to chat. I could either call her by phone, send her a letter, go to her residence or just wait to see her at school. Well, I did not feel secure talking on the phone because my Dad had this habit of eavesdropping and then tell me that he wasn’t on the phone when I clearly heard the television in the background. I could have sent a letter which could have been lost in the mail or get intercepted by anyone. Finally, I decided to just see her the next day at school. That is where the racism came into play here.

I always wanted to introduce Rose to my closest friends, but I was quite afraid of having her meet anyone else outside of my close circle. I wasn’t embarrassed about her. Nope. Instead, I wanted to shield her from the hateful comments of others. “What do you need of a white girl? Aren’t Black girls good enough?” I could really hear comments like that from the mouths of other Black “friends.” No, I did not want to subject her to the hatred of others. Another guy—a white guy—entered the picture and, in just a span of two years, the romance was over good anyway.

During the time of the breakup, the second girl—another Italian beauty—entered the picture and parked herself in my heart. We went through the rest of our senior together even though I never mustered up the strength to talk to her. I only managed to wave at her from time to time. We ended up attending the same university. She was impeccably dressed and I was the complete mess. She carried herself like the lady she was and I acted like a two-year-old set free in a toy store. I wanted to ask her out but never did. I had no car. Because of the tuition, I had to make choices due to the fact that my parents saved for me to go to college. I could have chosen the college or a car, but I could not have both. I am sure that Luanne, my everlasting love, may have had her own car, but it would have looked like a Black man was carjacking her if any bigots ever saw us together. I realize that I was quite immature at the time, but I was a bit smart enough to see how some folks would have perceived if they ever saw us together. The last time I ever saw her, it was 1978, the year that both of us received our Bachelor degrees in our chosen fields.

Thirty years have passed since our graduation when I found out that Luanne died from cancer. She was less than a month away from her 52nd birthday. Very few days have passed that I have not cried when I thought about her. I have often dreamed about events that could have taken place if I had the courage back then to ask her to marry me. I would have immediately taken her to my Grandpa's house, introduced them to each other and then asked for my Grandpa's blessing so that I could have married her. I know that if my Grandpa saw how much I loved her and how much she loved me, as the patriarch of our family, he would have blessed our union by saying, "If my grandson loves you so much, so do I. Welcome to our family."

I thought about where we would have lived if we were husband and wife. I would not have moved her into my boyhood neighborhood for fear of her being attacked by people who hated whites in the neighborhood if I wasn't around due to my work schedule. I would not have wanted her to wait for a bus or train if I wasn't there. I would not have allowed her to drive alone. Should the car break down in the same neighborhood, she would have been extremely vulnerable to harassment by racist thugs. No, I would not have wanted any of that to happen to her. I am sure that I would have had similar problems if we lived in her neighborhood. So, I devised a plan in my head where we could have lived in a racially-neutral neighborhood. It would have been the area where we would have attended college. She liked the area and so did I. So, that could have been the place for both of us.

Then, there would have been the arrival of children. I would have hoped that we would have given birth to a beautiful baby girl just like my favorite nieces Jasmine and Saki. She would have been the perfect mixture for both of us. She would have had her Mommy's brains, her Mommy's looks, and my demented humor. I wanted her to even be named LuLu, a form of her very beautiful Mommy's name. She would have attended either her Mommy's school or the one I picked out in the area where we would have lived. Our baby girl would be so joyous. On a typical day, I would have sat with her to go over her homework in our apartment while my very beautiful wife prepared a very delicious Italian dinner for the three of us. After all, cooking is the one item that Italian ladies are known for. Lasagna is my favorite dinner. Of course, after dinner, LuLu and I would have shared a cannoli, too.

In our family car, I would have been the pilot (driver), Luanne would have been the co-pilot and LuLu and Jasmine would have been the Munchkin crew safely fastened by seatbelts in the back seat of our Jeep Grand Cherokee as we traveled about somewhere.

Unfortunately, all of those will remain just dreams. They will never happen.

Now, I look back and see the lesson that I have learned. One should be open and not restrictive to love. It can come from anywhere. One needs to be open because Cupid is trying to focus on his target. It is not that he can't hit a moving target. He can. It is just that his arrow cannot pierce a heart made of stone. He may have the one for you if you are open. My heart was open, but my brain built a high and thick fence around it. I should have not worried about the racism that some presented and just pursued my dream. Color should NEVER be a barrier to true love. I learned it the hard way. I know that I know better now because I cry a waterfall at Luanne's grave every time I visit.

Kenny Nolan sang it best in the last stanza of his song, "I Like Dreaming."

I like dreamin' 'cause dreaming can make you mineI like holding you close and touching your skinEven if it's in my mindOh, sweet dream baby, I love youOh, my sweet dream baby, you're in my dreams every nightOh sweet dreams, I like feeling youOh sweet dreams baby, Don't keep me waiting all my life