The Color of Love

There’s so much said about who people date — the ethnicity part of it all, really … and the discourse is mostly centered around black men. Oddly, the contentiousness of the conversation grows louder when that man finds himself in the arms of a white woman (it’s as if Spanish women, especially, and Asian women are somehow fine to date; just don’t let it be no “snow bunny”).

This is a curious discussion for me that I’ve had to navigate for over two decades. As I’ve grown and experienced dating and marriage, love and heartbreak, and, yes, apprehension and keeping up appearances, I find myself reflecting on my past; thinking about where my affections have led me.

I invite you now to read through my journey, as a 90s teenager turned young adult, all the way to now. From NYC to KC and stops in-between; this is The Color of Love.

Early Days

Growing up in Laurelton, Queens, New York, I lived in a predominantly black neighborhood and attended mostly (perhaps even all) black schools. Elementary. Junior high. And high school. There aren’t many memories I have of my youth where I was exposed to other races, except when I went to our local mall.

Green Acres Mall was on a boundary line of sorts, separating the far southeastern area of Queens and the most western part of Long Island. The latter of which became increasingly white the deeper into Nassau County, Long Island you went.

So, it’s not that I didn’t know other races. It’s simply that I hardly saw them. And, because my family only ever taught love and acceptance, it never mattered one way or the other. I grew up to be attracted to, to like, and to approach young ladies who resembled my mother and my grandmother. I sought to date the young black women of my relatively small world.

College Years

College was an interesting experience. For one reason, I attended three colleges in four years. Sullivan County Community College for one semester. Herkimer County Community College for a year and a half. And Stony Brook University for two years. With so many colleges, you meet so many more individuals.

The second reason is each school was located in its own unique and diverse environment, each quite different from the other.

Sullivan was just about all black — or maybe that’s who I hung out with for those four months. But even though I was still dating my high school sweetheart, I had eyes on other sistas, for sure.

Herkimer was the truly first time I was around white girls. And while, again, I was still seeing the same high school girlfriend, we’d separate and I began talking to both black and white women.

Stony Brook was the first opportunity I can truly say I fell hard for a specific ethnicity. Well, two. To a lesser extent I was into Asian women. Not hard when you go to Stony Brook. There were a lot.

But the more major attraction were latinas. They became all I was interested in. They were all I dated. I became infatuated with Spanish speaking — when I’d argue with one of them and they slipped it in (even arguing I found it sexy), when we went out to eat at a Hispanic restaurant and they ordered, or, yes, during intimacy. It was intoxicating.

Early 20s (NYC)

The obsession with Puerto Ricans, Dominicans, Cubans, and other creeds of Latin women would continue for some time. If ever you could accuse me of having an agenda, being selective, and turning a blind eye to other races (even black), this would be that moment in life.

But eventually, I found the longest relationship of my life, other than with my wife, to happen in this portion of my adult youth. I met a young lady from Belize; she represented the first real relationship I had with a black Caribbean. This three and a half year stretch sold me on my next intoxication with women of a certain culture. However, I cheated heavily in the back half of the romance … and, interestingly, it became a mixed bag of colors; like a Skittles bag of infidelity.

Mid-Late 20s (KC)

Eventually, I’d move to Kansas City. A city that, similar to a lot of cities, is more segregated than we’d like to admit. I lived then - and still do today - in a white-majority landscape. But my first couple of years, I tried to go to black establishments. I was more purposeful about seeking out black women. I felt obligated to settle down with one, particularly in the aftermath of my mom dying. Perhaps it was personal pressure I was applying to myself. The reality is I genuinely wanted to date an African American woman. But fate had other plans.

After some earnest attempts and several dates here & there, nothing came about. I started to just entertain women as a whole. All women. No matter. I was encroaching on my latter 20s. I was sad. I was lonely. I wasn’t me. I lost my purpose and allowed my self-worth to crater.

It was never my intent for courting at this point in my life to turn toward a higher rate of white women than anyone else. That just happened. And then SHE happened. Melissa. We met on eHarmony January 1, 2007. First date was on February 16. She moved in June 2008. I proposed in August 2008. We bought our first house in October 2009. Married April 17, 2010.

My Life Today

As Melissa and I are closing in on 20 total years together, I’ve found what I prayed for in life. And it was never about the color of her skin. Or mine. Unfortunately, we’ve had moments when it felt that way.

The Caucasian couple at an Italian restaurant in a white Chicago suburb that asked to be reseated away from us.

The black female bartender that threw shade at us in St. Louis because I was just another sad brotha that brought his white trophy out.

And other, yet slighter, encounters that have occurred these past two decades.

So, when I see this topic bubble up on social media, it makes me sad. Extremely sad. Why can’t we just be happy that someone found love? It’s not easy. And not everyone succeeds, for one reason or another. We shouldn’t be running people down because of who they end up with. As you can see from my own life, I’ve been with women of all types. And, with one exception, for me it was never about their complexion. It was only ever about finding a soul that I could dig. Because the only color I’ve ever cared about was The Color of Love.