The American Dream... Revised

By Bridget Barber

I am a 30-year-old woman, born and raised in Des Moines, Iowa. I'm similar to other woman; I am married, a full time student and have a full time job, a cozy home and future plans on starting a family. The noticeable difference in my life is my inter-racial marriage. My husband is what society labels as, "African American", although he was born "mixed" or mulatto. His mother (who is deceased) was white and his father is African American. Some of our acquaintances assume my husband is one race, black; they seem surprised to find out his mother was white, while others assume he is Hispanic. My husband considers himself a black man; when he applies for a job or fills out an application he chooses African American, not Caucasian or both. We've discussed this and his reply is a simple one, ever since he was in school that is what he was told to check. He feels that "legally", he is black.

I've always been envious of other races and nationalities. I've craved for a heritage full of traditions and a distinctive culture. Growing up, it seemed that I channeled these yearnings into befriending other kids that had what I wanted; they belonged to an ethnic group. In elementary school, my best friend and her family were from Laos. She spent time at my house and I practically lived at hers. They spoke a different language, other than English, they used chopsticks to eat, instead of forks and their cultural beliefs were very sacred. My parents encouraged our friendship, but she ultimately moved away and we lost touch. Without my best friend, my cravings decreased and practically disappeared. It was around this time in my life, when I actually understood what racism was, I knew the definition of the word, but not the actions.

In my new friend's house it was acceptable to use racial slurs. She was not allowed to watch certain television programs, one that I particularly remember was "The Cosby Show." I remember trying to discuss an episode with her and other friends, and she was shocked that our parents allowed us to watch a 'black' family on television. Needless to say, years later she found out that her paternal grandfather had actually been a member of the Klu Klux Klan.

I certainly didn't agree with these views and didn't think my parents did. Although, I didn't experience the above in my household, I do remember an oxymoron opinion about inter-racial relationships, or more specifically the products of.

My parents expressed their disagreement with interracial dating, marriage and kids. My mom would try to justify this opinion by sympathizing with what the children would have to experience in their life. Maybe my mom's "opinion", was directly or indirectly planted from my grandfather, her father. In the early 1970's (I've never been told the exact year), my mom's older sister was unwed and became pregnant by a black man. During this time period, just being unwed and pregnant was enough to try to send my maternal grandfather to an early grave. When he found out it would be a biracial baby, he refused the shot-gun wedding and instead made my aunt give the baby girl up for adoption. I think I was in high school when I overheard a conversation between my mom and aunt about my cousin. Later, when I questioned my mom about what I overheard, she confirmed the adoption story, but I wasn't told that my cousin was bi-racial, until many years later, when I "pushed the envelope' with my cultural curiosity.

I met my husband when I was 21 and he was 26. One of my best friends went to beauty school with one of his friends. When I met him for the first time, I thought he was really handsome, but really didn't give him a lot of thought. After our first encounter, it seemed as though my friend and I were out, we constantly crossed paths with him. After a few months, she found out the man calling for me was half black. Her exact quote was, "Don't degrade yourself by dating a black man."

After this and other non-related incidents, I moved out of the apartment and back under my parents' roof. It was an adjustment from living on my own, to say the least. By this time, my future husband and I had started dating. I didn't tell my parents about my relationship, I kept it a secret. We would always meet at the place we were going, or I would just volunteer to pick him up. I was afraid to tell my parents who the new man in my life was. I was afraid of being disowned just for caring about someone of a different race. We dated for about two years, before I found the courage to tell my parents. Moving back home put a strain on our relationship. I abused the house rules and lied about my life. It came to a point where they stopped asking me things, because I think they were scared that I would actually tell them the truth. During hese two years I had met his family, but he hadn't met any of mine. I always felt he was fortunate to be from such a diverse family. There were no surprises. Three of his sisters were married to black men, and two were married or engaged to white men. His oldest brother was married to a white woman and the other brother had been married, now divorced, to a black woman.

When I finally decided to tell my parents, I felt ashamed. I thought about the two years of hiding and hoping I didn't run into anyone that would tell my parents. I was just as pathetic and ignorant as a racist. I needed to go back in time and remember what it was like not to know what prejudice was. I approached both of my parents about the upcoming Thanksgiving holiday.
I wanted to invite him, but thought they should know what would be the obvious. Maybe my parents learned from their past misconceptions and the pain and heartache my aunt experienced, because they accepted my inter-racial relationship, without hesitation. It is as if the past has c"ltr been erased; like most families we don't speak of the past or at least about our regrets. Honestly, I don't know what decisions I may have made or how different my life would be, if my relationship had been a problem with my parents.

I wish it had been that easy with my friends and actually, it should have been. No one wants to admit they have prejudices, probably because they may even realize it. There was a friend of the family that said, "I can't believe she would do that, how dark is he?" People like to use the excuse that is how they were raised. But being raised with those types of opinions, doesn't mean you can't change. I think one of the craziest reactions was from a close friend that admitted she asked her church pastor if there was anything in the Bible about inter-racial relationships. Apparently, she was concerned for my soul and eternal life.

Well, now we are happily married and are discussing starting our own family. Marriage alone is a challenge, not to mention being from different backgrounds~ When we are together, I notice the stares and wrinkled looks. When we are not together, I still hear racial slurs and comments, which force me to pick my battles. My husband tells me those things bother me more than they bother him. He is right, it bothers me to see how certain people react to us and I'm scared to think how society will react to our children.

Bridget Barber lives in Des Moines, IA