I Have A Black Wife
The other day, I was celebrating my son’s birthday with the in-laws. We hear the doorbell ring during cake and ice cream and my husband goes to answer the door. While we were eating, I hear my husband say, “Well, I have a black wife.” My brother-in-law and I looked at each other with puzzled expressions. We wondered aloud how that statement entered into the conversation with the mysterious stranger at the door.
When the hubby comes back, we all want to know what in the world he was talking about. He explains that upon opening the door, an African-American gentleman’s first words were “It’s a black man!” My husband’s response was that it was fine because he had a black wife. The man proceeded to say that he had a job, a degree, kept his pants up, and didn’t swear every other word. I finally asked why he was at our door in the first place. The answer: to sell eco-friendly cleaning solution.
As I questioned why this man felt like he needed to put my husband at ease and dispel every stereotype of the “black man,” I remembered. We live in a suburb of Houston that isn’t very diverse. Less than 2% of the population is African-American. Maybe this salesman had some negative experiences as he went door to door. Or had the fear of what his color and gender would conjure up in the minds of the residents.
I am an African-American woman married to a white man. Our son is biracial and my daughter from a previous marriage is black. Luckily, we have not experienced any overt racism in the time that we’ve been here. Or anywhere that we’ve been. Except for our vacation in Myrtle Beach a couple of years ago, but that’s another story. But I am not so naive as to think that the world is all “ebony and ivory, living in perfect harmony.” But in our little world, we do live in perfect harmony. Being an interracial family hasn’t been a very big deal for us. Sure, we get some lingering looks here and there. I might catch someone giving us a nasty stare from time to time. And then I’ll do my stare back and play the “who turns away first” game and shame them into submission. But mostly, we go about our daily lives oblivious to what others may be thinking. That’s the way I wish it was for everyone. I hope that my son (and the one on the way), never feel the need to go on the defensive about who they are.
After the stranger went on his way and my husband sat back down at the table, I asked him how the whole conversation ended. He said he told him to hit the bricks, because he had some celebrating to do with his son. You see, this man sees no color. He is an equal opportunist. He’s rude to every salesperson he meets, whether they be red, yellow, black or white. Exactly how it should be.
