Source: https://www.pinterest.com/taylorkl24/quotes/
“I believe that black people should be with black people and white people should be with white people.” That’s what my dad told me when I asked him why he didn’t approve of my boyfriend at the time: high school, sophomore year. I didn’t realize he felt this way about interracial relationships until this conversation. Since then, I’ve struggled with handling this concept of race in relationships, with understanding why the color of someone’s skin matters so much to my dad, with placing my own happiness—who I love, who I’m most attracted to, who I choose to be with—above what my dad considers appropriate. These feelings are difficult to describe, that moment when you’re faced with the decision to either risk losing someone you love (my boyfriend), or risk losing someone else that you love (my family). It’s frustrating and embarrassing and infuriating all at once.
I met this one man during the first week here at Gettysburg. He messaged me on Facebook and there was an instant, indescribable connection. He was intelligent, loving, driven, attractive, and supportive; there aren’t enough adjectives to describe just how incredible he was. I’m beyond lucky to have had the chance to get to know him and to now call him my best friend on campus. I nearly fell in love with him. But, I stopped myself. I told him about my strict, Catholic upbringing, about my dad’s beliefs, about everything that made me who I am. He was entirely ready to take that next step and be with me and to fight through any obstacles we faced in the relationship.
But, I wasn’t. I let it slip through my fingers because I was too afraid, because I didn’t want to see him get hurt, because I didn’t want him to give my family his absolute best first impression, only to have my dad not like him just because he was black. I felt like I had no voice in the matter. My dad never provided me reasons why he was so against interracial relationships, never let me attempt to explain why I thought his beliefs were wrong and unfair and discriminatory. It was one of the many things that I had to accept and never question while I was growing up.
Source: MaxPixel
I told myself I wouldn’t put a man through the same scrutiny, through the same process of meeting my parents, hearing the usual critiques, with the cold, unwelcoming exterior of my dad during dinner, after my first relationship of almost two years ended in high school. My boyfriend in high school was Muslim and was originally from Bangladesh, and he moved to the United States around the age of six. I’ve known him since middle school. I remember the first time he met my parents. It was my sixteenth birthday. My parents wanted to take me out to a restaurant and I thought it was the best time for them to finally meet.
It was one of the most difficult situations I’ve had to endure: my dad sat across from my boyfriend, my mom (who doesn’t align with the beliefs of my dad) across from me. Refusing to make eye contact, shake his hand, or utter even a sentence, my dad sat there in silence as my boyfriend tried his hardest to gain his approval or, at the least, his respect. The entirety of the conversation was between me, my boyfriend, and my mom—my dad, unwilling to give him a chance, fading into the background of what was supposed to be a happy, enjoyable celebration of my 16th.
I wasn’t accepted by my boyfriend’s family either. He wasn’t allowed to date a white girl and because of his religion, he was expected to have an arranged marriage, as his two older siblings before him had. It hurt that I wasn’t ever going to get the chance to meet his family because I was white, and eventually caused the relationship to end—firstly, because I couldn’t handle being a secret anymore; secondly, because he understandably couldn’t cope with the disapproval of my dad; and, thirdly, because race and religion were too large of obstacles for us to overcome.
Source: MaxPixel
Part of what was so hard was that my boyfriend felt like he was the problem. He wasn’t. There was nothing wrong with him. The color of his skin wasn’t a flaw, wasn’t something of which to be ashamed, wasn’t an impediment on who he was as an individual, wasn’t something he could change, and was definitely not something he should want to change. The problem went beyond the beliefs of my dad. The problem was institutional racism, white supremacism, an ignorance surrounding race, and an unwillingness to not just be colorblind, but a refusal to be color accepting.
I ended up getting into my second relationship in the summer before sophomore year of college, which only lasted about four or five months. But, this time it was different. I didn’t have anything holding me back this time. Everything was there: the connection, the happiness, the desire, the guaranteed approval of my parents, the butterfly feeling in the pit of my stomach. I hate admitting this, but he met my dad’s criteria: he was white and Christian. I didn’t have to worry about calling my parents and giving them an update on my love life, telling them I’ve met such a great guy, a black guy, and having the conversation immediately fall flat, silent, and tense. I didn’t have to worry about introducing him to the extended family and worrying whether he would feel out of place or excluded or unwanted. There was a kind of relief for me that went along with it: a selfish side that didn’t have to confront blatant racism, that could be content with my choice because it didn’t take away from anything; it didn’t hurt anyone; it didn’t ask anyone to give up something or someone they loved.
I still have a difficult time putting myself first. I know I can’t change how my dad feels about race and religion and interracial relationships. Racism is generational; it’s systemic. Where do I go from here? How will I approach this in the future? The answers to both are honestly and openly, “I don’t know.” I don’t know what’s going to happen if I commit myself to another interracial relationship. I don’t know how my dad will react if I date another black man. But, I do know that there’s going to be a time in my life where I separate myself from the expectations of my dad to pursue what I truly want, whatever the consequence. No one should have to sacrifice their personal happiness or beliefs to appease others.
Love is love, no matter what color, what gender, what sexual orientation it comes in.