His family welcomed me with open arms and I am a better person because of it.
” Though I knew my parents wouldn’t care, wouldn’t forbid be from seeing him, or treat him differently than my past boyfriends, the fact that I felt the need to admit he was black, as if it were a crime is absurd.
How many times had I said “Mom, I met this guy, he’s white”?
Not even a Wes Anderson joint, but something you might see as part of a museum exhibit before you head to the dinosaur section.
I grew up in one of the seventeen cities in the United States named Rochester (Wikipedia, 2015).
The more attention I received from black men, the less white men wanted to talk to me, as if I had been eternally branded as a traitor.