A Bittersweet Existence » interracial relationships

Highway Patrol

Dawana — Thu, 02 Jun 2011 13:00:25 +0000

There’s this Yo Gabba Gabba song that goes:

“1, 2, 3, 4, 5 people are in my family

1, 2, 3, 4, 5 people are in my family

we are best friends that love each other

that’s my family (that’s right!)

that’s my family (that’s right!)”

and this is my daughter’s current favorite song of the moment. Although against my will, it has become one of my favorite songs of the moment as well.

I’ve never thought my family was any different from any other family (and still don’t think so). There are, however, many asshats who feel the need to make my family feel as though we are outcasts, aliens- if you will and we don’t belong here.

My husband is not too keen on having his face all “out there” on the web…

My husband was born and raised in the “big city” of Omaha, Nebraska. Since we now live in Colorado (not necessarily the most diverse place on earth) and Nebraska is only a 7-8 hour drive away, we try to visit as often as possible.

We thought going up for Memorial Day would be fun and on our way back, we were pulled over outside of some dumb ass town in Nebraska that no one cares about by the Nebraska Highway Patrol.

When my husband asked what we were being pulled over for, the gentleman told him that he was going 6 miles above the speed limit.** Really? I thought you had a 5-10 mile kind of “blanket” in regards to the highway. Whatever. What do I know? ** My husband nicely told the officer that he was merely going along with the speed of traffic and that he didn’t realize that going 6 over warranted being pulled over. To which the police officer responded “Sir, we’re pulling people over for going 3 miles over the limit now” (Pff yeah fuckin right. Like you don’t have better shit to do)

Anywho, the officer asked for the rental agreement, wanted to know whose name was on it (mine) and then asked my husband to “step out of the car” and come with him to the cruiser where they could “discuss the matter further.” What? Since when do you need to get out of the car for going 6 miles over- give me a ticket or not sir, fuckin pick one.

I am in the car, heart racing, thinking what the fuck is happening right now. I was just hoping that my husband could keep his anger in check long enough to get back to the car safely. Also, in the back of my mind, I was thinking “I bet this guy is leery because my husband has two black people in the car, one of whom is 6 feet tall, 200 pounds.” I watched my husband get into the passenger seat of the police car and slowly close the door. All I could do, was pray…

I know, I know- pulling the race card is not cool, but it’s a reality folks. It’s my family’s reality. I cannot tell you how many times my husband has absolutely blown his top on some fucktard for being super, duper rude to me somewhere- whether it be California Pizza Kitchen in Hollywood or podunk town Nebraska because of what color my skin is. Racism is not dead. It just isn’t. Why did people pressure President Obama to get his birth certificate? Wouldn’t that have been something to have been clarified BEFORE the dude became president? Whatever. That’s another blog post on ignorant people.

When my husband returned to the car, with a “warning” in his hand. He told me what unfolded on his trip to the police cruiser.

While walking to the police car the officer asked him questions like “who are those people in the car” and “who’s the guy in the back seat” and “do you have any drugs or weapons in the car.” Yes, officer. While traveling with my wife, two year old and dog in the vehicle, I also have an AK-47 and a fuckin bag of coke. Arrest me now, please.

My husband being the smart cookie he is recorded the conversation and when the officer asked why he was taping it, my husband simply replied “Sir, I’ve seen too many tv shows.”

Good boy hubby.

The officer called in my husband’s license and asked if he had any outstanding tickets or warrants out for his arrest. My husband said “Sir, I wouldn’t be able to work for the Government if I did” (The officer chuckled uncomfortably cause he knew that was a dumb ass question- my husband is a Government employee and is currently employed on an Air Force Base here. Your record needs to be so clean to work for the government- you can’t even have a fuckin 6^th toe! Kidding… sort of)

He proceeded to say “Did you know that I could have the car towed because your name is not on the rental agreement?” Really fuck face? I guess you don’t need to know how to read well to be a Nebraska state officer my husband’s name was CLEARLY on the rental agreement as an additional driver!!!! Once the officer saw that, he had nothing to say but “oh.” And seriously?! Why are you threatening to tow our car? For going 6 over or for having “that guy” in the back seat and “those people” in the car?

He asked my husband where we were coming from (visiting family in Nebraska) and where we were going (back home to Colorado) and if we always rent cars when we take road trips (well sir when you have your wife, brother-in-law a 2 year old a 70 pound dog and luggage, you can’t really drive a 4-door sedan, so this was more reasonable for us).

He continued to ask other dumb ass questions that had nothing to do with anything before letting my husband go with a “warning.” If we were an all-white family, would this have happened? Is it not okay for my husband to have a black wife and brother-in-law. When I say we looked like a family driving in a mothafuckin’ station wagon. We rented a Chevy Traverse, which is like a damn bus. The car was filled with baby toys, diapers, wipes, food splattered everywhere. No loud music. 6 miles over (give me a fuckin’ break). A car seat. Baby and dog in the backseat.

Who the fuck was this asshole to ask my husband who are “those people” in the car? Who the FUCK do you think we are OFFICER. Protect and serve asshole. Protect and serve. That’s your job.

Anyway. It’s beyond frustrating. And the stories that I could tell about my family being violated would fill a book. Maybe I’ll write one. Maybe I won’t. Maybe I’ll let “sleeping dogs lie” and ignorant people stay ignorant. What do they say? Ignorance is bliss?

Whatever.

I pay my taxes like everyone else I will not stop blowing the horn on people who make us feel like we are anything but U.S. Citizens and a family unit. This is my family.

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Thank You, Dr. King

Dawana — Mon, 18 Jan 2010 20:10:28 +0000

**The following is a guest post written by Cessy from Confessions of a Jibber Jabber.**

I refuse to accept the view that mankind is so tragically bound to the starless midnight of racism and war that the bright daybreak of peace and brotherhood can never become a reality…. I believe that unarmed truth and unconditional love will have the final word. ~Martin Luther King, Jr.

I am a Hispanic woman married to a Black man. My story begins when I was in high school where as a freshman I met the man who today is my husband. It was 1991 in Pomona, California. Interracial dating was not commonplace but it certainly was not 1950 and strictly forbidden; at least not legally. I had always been attracted to Black men. I had always been attracted to Black people as a whole. In a high school that was predominantly Black and Hispanic every one of my girlfriends was Black and as an adolescent I just felt like I fit in more with Black people than I did my own people. In fact Hispanic girls hated me throughout my school years. And I loathed Hispanic boys. There I said it – my first encounter with hate and I was at the root of it.

I am confident my prejudice was formed out of my childhood and having nearly every single man in my life who was supposed to protect me, provide for me, and love me – fail me. I knew from a very early age [grade school] that if this was what Hispanic men were about than I wanted no parts of it. As an adult woman I have long seen the error of my judgment; shame on me for putting all Hispanic men into one category of worthless. Nonetheless despite my childhood stigmas towards Hispanic men I did have a very real attraction towards Black men. But dating my husband did not come without consequences. A few of the girlfriends that were once my close friends, the girls I chatted with all night, and ate lunch with were no longer my friends. I had crossed a line by dating my husband. I was accepted as part of the group but once I ‘stole one of their men’ I had lost a few allies.

I continued my relationship with my husband despite losing a few friends. I later became pregnant. Now not only had I crossed a line with Black people but with Hispanic people as well. And they were worse, far worse. You see Hispanic men are raised with a very machismo attitude and are extremely protective of ‘their women.’ We’re often seen as possessions. In the early 90’s this had not changed much. I recall riding city buses and being called the worst of derogatory names by Hispanic males. I had racial slurs shouted at my Black child and me. I saw the snickers, whispers, and looks of shame directed towards me. Hispanic males hated me and definitely were at the forefront of my worst experiences with bigotry. Yes, you read that correctly. Not white people. Not Black people. My own people hated me. In particular boys, men, that I didn’t even know who saw me as trash. I felt so powerless. Like any mother, regardless of race or ethnicity, I wanted to protect my child. I didn’t see him as Black or Hispanic – he was just my son. But the world, this imperfect world, they did see his color and they despised me for it.

The worst was when my grandfather, who I absolutely adored, disowned me, and I was no longer allowed in his home. I didn’t argue with my grandfather I was taught to respect him regardless of my hurt feelings over his disownment. Also, even at a young age I was able to comprehend that he was raised in an entirely different era than I was and it was one where races just did not mix let alone have children. I stood quiet.

My grandfather had Black friends; I know this is so cliché and what every prejudice person says when confronted with their bigotry. But it is true. He did have Black friends and I recall them coming over to my nana’s home where she served dinner and they all sat around the dining room table talking and eating and having a good time. But friends were different. Creating a child with a person outside of my race was way beyond this in my grandpa’s opinion. I stood away for almost a year when I was finally allowed back.

My grandfather was an old man, he was raised in a very different time, born in Wisconsin he spent most of his childhood and adolescent life in Mexico, and he was set in his stubborn ways. But as time progressed the dynamics of the relationship between my grandfather, my husband, my children, and me transformed into something I will treasure for the rest of my life: my grandfather loved my husband. My grandfather and I had a very unique relationship and we were very close. He became so fond of my husband and writing this makes me smile because I remember the struggles we first endured almost 19 years ago and how difficult this grumpy old man was. People can change. My grandfather was able to see my husband for the good hard workingman he was. Not a man of color. Not a man different from him. Just a good man. Regardless of the color of my husband’s skin or my grandfather’s original beliefs my grandfather was able to see beyond it all and recognize that my husband was a man of character who took care of his responsibilities and this was to be respected – man to man. I think this is all Dr. King ever wanted out of each and every one of us was to love our fellow man regardless of the color of their skin and to not be judged for it but by the content of our character as a human being.

Life as an interracial couple raising children is not easy. Although I think my husband and I are fortunate to be born and raised in Southern California, because it is definitely on the faster track to diversity sensitivity in comparison to other parts of the nation, it is not without hatred. There are still idiots forcing their judgments on you – and they come in all shades, shapes, and sizes. There have been plenty of painful moments in my life based solely on the color of both mine and my husband’s skin color. For the sake of my children I choose to refuse to allow other people’s ignorance destroy my spirit or me and I teach my children to do the same. Some days this is easier than others.

Thankfully we have each other to lean on when faced with adversity. Being that both of us are minorities and both of our people have experienced racism we can relate on that level, understand each others views, and be sensitive. I think my husband is definitely more of the ‘angry’ one in our marriage. Where I try to see the strides we’ve made in this country he sees the very long road we still have to total equality. We don’t always see eye to eye on many, many issues and we have our cultural differences but overall I think we balance each other. One issue we do agree on is the mutual goal of ensuring our kids know they are both Black and Hispanic [Blacksican as the kids say] and they should stand tall and be proud of both sides of their heritage. They have amazing history on both sides of the family and I hope that it can only enrich who they become as adults. They also have a very diverse family – we are not the only interracial couple. There are Jewish, Caucasian, and Asian people all married into our giant melting pot of a family and I think this is wonderful for them to see that love has no color.

I am not a leader in my community. I am not an activist. I am a really huge nobody in the great scheme of things. But even this nobody can do their part to ensure the next generation is better than it’s predecessors. Like any parent I want my children to live in a world free of hatred and inequality. I believe we create this by raising children who will become adults bearing good character, who are compassionate for their fellow human being, and who are able to stand up to injustice. Intolerance – it begins and cultivates at home and is passed on from one generation to the next.

In 1963 there was a moment of inspiration and confidence in the future of the human race as thousands gathered for the March on Washington – many, many moments and struggles such as this paved the way for me to be where I am right now. I don’t discount it or lose sight of the goals Dr. King had for us as a people – Black, White, or Brown. I show my gratitude to Dr. King, and all those who stood up to bias, by trying very hard to be a person of tolerance despite differences with my fellow man and God willing by raising decent human beings who will do the same.

I sincerely thank you Dr. King.

Cessy and her husband on their wedding day.

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