Why I Couldn’t Date A White Woman

Beating Dead Horses: An Honest Assessment About Why I Couldn’t Date A White Woman


Nearly every time anybody finds out that my mother is white, the conversation veers towards my dating preferences and if I’d ever date a white woman. And my answer is always no. I usually rifle off some statement about not being rejected by all of the beautiful Black women yet, and while that may be true, that really doesn’t speak at all to any sound, valid based god reasoning.

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So one day, while eating things white people eat – like arugula and rosemary paremesan bread – I decided to really think about if there was any good reason aside from disappointing the million sistahs that don’t want me already. And that’s when it happened.

What?

I’m finna tell you, be easy.

So that’s when it happened.

Rick James, b*tch. My iTunes media player randomly played one of my favorite songs ever.

And then the floodgates into my mind’s eye opened and the reasons flowed like champagne at a strip club featuring the talents of future Basketball Wives. Allons-y.

1. I couldn’t dedicate nearly any of my favorite songs to her.

“Ebony Eyes”? Out. Once we break up: “Pretty Brown Eyes (Breaking My Heart)”. Gone. While it’s wholly possible that I could date a white chick with brown eyes, with my luck she’d have green eyes and splicing every time Erick Sermon said “the green eyed-bandit” into a dope song is just not a good idea. So many songs about Black love mention a woman’s brown eyes, which must suck for our sistahs with hazel or green or Thriller eyes.

2. I like to go to exhibits about Black history.

Nearly all of these exhibits haarken back to a time of discord between our two races. And while I’d know beyond the shadow of a doubt that it wasn’t my girl’s fault that things went all the way wrong…maybe, just maybe…she ain’t do enough to prevent it!!!!! True story: I went to go see the America I Am Exhibit while it was here in DC and this man came with his white wife. They started out cool, but over the course of the exhibit they must have gotten into some racially charged argument because they kept arguing…HISTORY…while we were there. It’s almost like he was taking it all personal while she was just trying to see the exhibit. Poor white woman.

3. I’m bald.

This means that I don’t have a comb. But I do have a daugher. And I swear fo’ God and three white men that I’d be the most hairdressingest Black man in America before I let somebody who’s hair acumen is effectively “wet and go” do my daughter’s hair. I’ve seen that with my own two eyes before. It was no bueno.

4. I like to watch bad Black movies.

I like sequels to questionable Black movies like Belly 2, Why Did I Get Married To: That Guy Right Three. And movies with Vivica Fox. I’m only gonna explain front weaves once. Or what if we are watching Precious and she thinks its funny. I mean it is…but I’m Black. After laughter comes tears. SHE should want to go volunteer and make a difference after!

5. I could never own or watch Rosewood again.

I remember the first time I watched this movie. At the home of my white mother and my entire white family. And I was enraged for a solid fifteen minutes. At nobody and everybody. I mean…they kilt Aunt Sarah dead. How am I supposed to tell her that I can never watch a movie again without her WANTING to see why? And then we’d have to watch it…and then we’d be done and what then class??

I couldn’t dedicate any songs to her that I love cuz well, “Pretty Brown Eyes” is out remember? See what I did there?

6. I honestly feel like I’d be disappointing my community.

Why? No good reason. Ridiculous logic? Absolutely. Love is and should be bigger than all of that. But I feel how I feel and I hate pepper because it’s Black. Again, I’m a f*cking walking paradox. No I’m not.

7. Most importantly, I’d have to stop using the n-word. And my n*gga, that’s just too much to ask of one man.

Now, don’t take this as me saying nobody should date outside of their race. Frankly, my dear, I couldn’t give a damn less who anybody decides to date as long as it’s not some horse or an ocelot. But these are reasons I’d tell my momma…right before she told me I need to have more diverse dating tastes. Oh, parents.


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