Black Love...

When I was a kid, I had my adult life all planned out. I would own a business, I would get married, and I'd have 5 little chocolate kids. I'd drive a nice SUV (hunter green), live in a big house with flowers in the yard, and my husband and I would go out for lunch every Sunday afternoon.

I had the epitome of Black love planned. Successful, strong, and steady.

Fast forward to now: I do own a business, and I did get happily married. I have a nice SUV and there are many flowers in my yard. The house is nice sized. We don't have 5 kids yet, but if life lasts we might meet that goal also. (He's on board--I'm undecided but open!)

What did I miss?

Oh yeah--the Black love part.

He isn't Black.

But I am. So it still counts, right? Because I'm melanated as heck (I have the same chocolate skin I planned for my future kids), doesn't this count?

Plenty of people say, no.

See, apparently Black love can only exist between two Black people. In some very stringent circles, you do NOT have Black love unless you and your partner are Black--and they go further to assume you don't love yourself because you've "stepped out" on your people.

I had a plan for my whole life, down to the job. It wasn't just the musings of a little girl playing house. No! I deliberately and diligently worked to achieve each part of this plan. I was so serious about it. I wanted nothing more than my little Black family, in our little green SUV, with our flower-filled yard. I wanted to eat Soul food with my husband on Sunday afternoons and attend school plays at the kids' private school every semester. I was going to serve on the PTA and make all kinds of delicious, picture-perfect goodies for the school's bake sale fundraisers.

...unfortunately all the planning in the world could not compel a Black man to want those same things, with me.

Not for lack of effort. I dated ONLY Black men up until I met my husband. If a guy didn't have the melanin, he couldn't even get my number. I was so fastidious about it, I was borderline obsessive. I didn't even entertain lighter-complexioned suitors. Had to be my skin tone or better.

...and so came my downfall. I never had a set age I wanted to be married, and I never really cared after adulthood if it happened at all. I just knew if it happened, I wanted that magical Black Love. But in chasing an image of what I programmed myself to want, to think was the only way to have the right life, I almost missed my shot at any relationship. I projected too much expectation and as the men around me constantly fell short, I lost hope in not just Black love but ANY love.

NOTE: I wasn't raised any particular way regarding relationships. I never saw interracial relationships play out, so I didn't even have a point of reference. I knew people who had biracial kids, but none of those people had both parents at home. The two-parent families I saw were all as brown as I, and that's what I told myself I had to have. I saw that Black love, so that was what I looked for, for myself.

NOTE: I did and still do adore Black men. I'm raising one!!! As far as romance goes, I just happen love my man more.

I wanted that Cliff and Clair, man. But the men I chose, or the men who chose me, were not meant to be. How was it even fair that, as obsessed with Black love as I was, I couldn't seem to hold it? Every  attempt ended in bitter-tasting failure that I got tired of "savoring" over and over. Was I meant for it? If this was what I was destined and ordained to have, why was getting and keeping it so damn hard?

When I was face to face with what would become the beginning of my Bollywood Blindian love story, I didn't even know how to react.

How was this supposed to be my story?!

...easily.

From day one, he made me a priority. The things that mattered to me, mattered to him by default. When my dearest showed up to take me to dinner for the first time, he had candy for the most important person in my world at the time--my princess! He went out of his way to make sure I was home on time that evening. (I am always the on to put her to bed.) He didn't press the issue of being allowed to meet her. Boundaries were respected, which ultimately laid the foundation for a solid union.

This is not to say a Black man couldn't/wouldn't have done the same. But if I had described my husband as above and not mentioned his lack of Blackness, the same amen corner who condemns me for "stepping out" would be cheering,and high-fiving theme for the obvious win of successfully navigating the dating game to find my best match.

If you know life, you know exactly how often the universe aligns perfectly to bring forth a special request--not very, if ever.

See, I grew up in those few years of letdowns and fallouts. I stopped fixating on the skin tone of my mate and began focusing on the specific character traits I hoped to find.

I knew I wanted an intelligent mate. Not just book smart, but wise--one who used his book smarts to garner experiences that would shape his wisdom as well. Kindness was a must as well. He would need to love children and Alabama football. He would definitely have to enjoy travel. (Extra points if he liked driving, because I sometimes don't!) He should be able to cook--not just warm up stuff, but make an actual meal.

My dearest is all that, plus more.

Was I supposed to walkaway from him because his skin isn't as brown as mine? Should I have forgone the happiness I feel now, the pure joy to know I face each day with this wonderful person at my side, because he isn't Black?

You're out of your mind.

Maybe it isn't technically Back love.

But in accepting this real, true, constantly-evolving love before me, I believe I practice the best love of all: love of self. Which allows me to really love others. Because I am properly, completely, and healthily loved, I can model the proper relationships for my children. They can see their parents work together to navigate life's twists and turns.

What I planned for was Black love. No doubt.

But at the root of those plans was a simple, stable life, shared with one person I could count on when all else around me proved fallible.

When I look at my dearest I don't only see the difference in skin tone or accent. I don't only see his straight hair in contrast to my kinky twirls. I don't only see his nationality.

I take account of those traits because NO human is truly colorblind.

I notice. I'm aware.

I'm just more aware of how he encourages my ambitions. How he cooks food if he thinks I didn't eat enough. How he holds my hand in the car. The way he checks on me if I'm not feeling well, even if I haven't told him I'm not feeling well. I'm keenly aware of how, even when we disagree, he doesn't forget my "see you later" kiss in the morning before he heads out. How he takes the toddler so I can rest a bit. How, even though our parenting styles are totally different (I am stricter and prefer routine; he is more laid back and lets things go as they flow.) he doesn't undermine my efforts with the kids.

IF finding someone who loves me, a Black woman, the right way, isn't Black love, then what is? Because while I cannot guarantee I wouldn't find a Black man to give me this exact peace, I can guarantee you this--30 years was long enough to wait the first time, and I'm not looking to wait that long again.

What I planned for, was Black love.

What I received?

I consider it Black love. His lack of Blackness doesn't invalidate our hat in the ring, and my Blackness ABSOLUTELY solidifies this thing. Not only has he taken on the task of loving a Queen, but he's immersed himself in my experience. He has learned my culture, my history, and my pain. He shares them. I reciprocate.

Fate worked this one right on out for us. How are we today, a couple years in?

Oh, we are definitely Sri'Maican it!