ZebraCouple’s Weblog; Blogging in Beautiful Black & White

I know I’ve said before that Que’s African American family really loves me, cares for me as much as they can, given the fact that I’ve come into their already-pretty-well-developed-lives just within the last decade.  I mean, it isn’t like we all grew up together and bonded that way.  They love me as I love them, and as much as we are capable with our limited histories together.

The family members I’m speaking of here are those in our lives pretty much daily.  Her Mom and sisters, nieces, and Dad, for the most part.  My sister and my kids love my wife as her people love me.  A lot.  They love her because I love her.  Her relatives love me because she loves me.

Move beyond that inner circle though, and things change quickly.  And the Interracial-ness of us just may be the reason why.  I’ll explain.

I don’t usually go to too many larger gatherings of my wife’s family and / or friends.  I just don’t feel all that welcome there, when the core group– that “inner circle,” (IC) either isn’t there, or is preoccupied with aunties, uncles, cousins, nieces, and grand babies they don’t see as often.  When that happens– when that inner circle of those who genuinely care for me forget about me (and of course this happens, I don’t expect them to babysit me!)  When they move about to mingle, I’m kind of left there by myself.  And every time this has happened, probably a half-dozen or so in our history– no one has come forward to talk to this light-skinned stranger to the rest of the family!

I used to sit looking as confident as I could at first, self-assured; don’t need anybody by me, talking to me to enjoy myself.  That lasts about 5-10 minutes.  I’ve already started sending out friendly smiles left and right to curious people who are looking at me, but who never come over and chat.  What’s up with that!?  There are far more of you, than there are of me– and I’m the new person in the family– am I wrong to hope that others will approach me?  Will see that I’m floating there all by myself in a strange and dark sea?  I’m shooting out the friendly inviting smiles.  Do I have to do all the work?!  Well I really don’t have the confidence for that.  (I really don’t have the confidence to even sit there.  That was an act, you knew that!)  

Sometimes, if there’s a punchbowl or a buffet line, I’ll go back and grab another something to nibble on…. (pretty sad, huh?) just to busy myself.  Pretty soon after all of this, somebody from the IC usually returns.  If it’s my wife, I dryly say to her, “Thanks for not leaving me alone,”– a reference to the unfair promise I usually wrestle from her before agreeing to attending said event.  If it’s anybody else, they’ve usually come back because they’ve seen me floundering there by myself.  They feel bad for me, and I feel bad that they’re leaving long lost relatives to pacify me. 

The way I deal with that now is, I usually don’t go to her family meetings with expected attendance of say eight or more. 

Okay.  You can say I’m being immature.  That I should grow up, get out and glad-hand, be bold and go around and introduce myself.  But that’s not who I am.  I’m really pretty shy ’til I get to know people, and they me.  And it’s one thing to say that– quite another to do it when you aren’t sure how people feel about you; how they feel about the whole dating outside our race concept.  Mom & Dad love that their daughter has a great guy– her true love and soul-mate.  The rest of the fringe family—– not so ecstatic I sometimes sense. 

My family’s too small to flip this around and see how it goes for Que.  We’ve never had a gathering of my peeps over six people really (Christmas).  I could maybe see the same thing happening to her if my old family (especially my older relatives.  Definitely old school.  Might have been pretty cold.)  But I always say that my Mom & Dad would’ve loved Que, just as I do.  I wish they could have lived long enough to meet her.

So what about everyone else?  How do our IR friends handle this social spousal separation, (or bf / gf separation?)  Am I the only one with this problem?  Do I need to, like I said you’d say– just grow up?  Or do some of you empathize with this issue?  Anyone else know this feeling, of eyes watching you, but not reaching out to try to get to know you?  Black people have HUGE families.  And HUGE family gatherings, way more often than most white people that I know do.  I think that it’s great.  I really miss the days when my family was big and the get-togethers we used to have.  White people may be starting to do family reunions more now, thanks to black people– but that’s another post.

Lemme hear ya on this issue of outer circle acceptance, rejection or indifference.  Inner circle = great people.  Beyond that, I don’t know.  Might be great people, might not be.  Should I push?  Or am I right to expect or hope one or two might approach me?  Should I just be happy that we’ve got a great IC, and let everyone else keep watching from afar?  What kinds of circles do you all have around you?  Big, friendly IC’s?  Big friendly OC’s maybe?  We’re curious.  Do you do that, “Don’t leave me alone here,” thing too?  Or don’t have to?

And what should I title this post– so that lots of curious people come visit, read and comment?  Because I think it’s a good one; an issue that has IR ramifications / complications written all over it.  What do you think friends?  Tell us your familial tales (yes, I think that’s a made-up word.)

Everyone knows the word stereotype.  Surely, most know what it means.  One online dictionary defines it as: an oversimplified standardized image of a person or group.  I thought that this one was pretty good; straight to the point, no BS.

I was really trying to figure out how the two words, “Stereo,” and “Type,” came together to mean, oversimplified standard image….  Type and typical are similar, so that makes sense.  People who stereotype tend to group people by behaviors, speech style, skin tone, birthplace, etc.,

Notice I said “People who stereotype…..”  Like I myself never have!?  Sometimes I fall into the trap of mentally revising my own personal history to the point where, “I’ve always been above that.”   ”Who me??  Why, my wife is black.  Of course I’d never…”   Let’s just say here that that’s really not who I was before.  We’ll leave it at that for now, come back to that some day, and try to stay focused here for just a tad longer.

Back in the day, “stereo” meant music and different sounds coming from each earpiece on my headphones, or from speakers on both sides of my shag-rug’d “bachelor pad.”  It was wonderful, (and still relatively new then) to hear different instruments and parts of the music coming from left and right.  I guess where I’m going with this is that even though each ear was hearing something different, the brain heard only the compiled version; the whole musical package– in “stereo.”  So stereo, to us geezers anyway means 2.  (Maybe 4 if you were fortunate enough to have a “quadrphonic” set-up.  But that’s a Hi-Fi Retro-Techno blog for another time and place.)

Maybe they were going for double– or multiple– or….  I don’t know what.  Sometimes I can think through and make head sense of certain words.  Not every time obviously.  Sorry to put you all through the way my brain works.  But if any readers out there can shed light on this word, STEREOTYPE, and just what Mr. & Mrs. Webster (an IR couple I’m told) <just kidding> had in mind with it– please pass that along to us??

All this to preface a little discussion about something I saw this week while driving in & around my home town.  I know after this great big build-up you’re gonna go, “That’s it!?  He put us through that lengthy treatise on the English language for that!?”  I apologize here and now if that’s your feeling after reading today’s post.

From my cell phone I bothered my wife Que at her work this week.  Driving down one of our local stretches of suburban blacktopthis week, all windows down on a perfectly gorgeous summer morning.  Around 9:30 in the morning mind you– an African American woman pulled up next to me, (her windows down too) feverishly gnawing on a fried chicken drumstick!  One greasy hand on her wheel, she never looked left to see me smiling a smug, “It’s true!” smile.  My wife and I both got a little chuckle out of the chicken-lady drive-by and I began thinking more about stereotypes.

A few days later and a few miles from that sighting, I spied an African American teen in the backseat of his parents car smacking on some honey-barbeque wings.  “How interesting’s that,” I thought to my pitiful self.  (Pitiful because my brain  really was trying to piece together some kind of connection between black people and chicken.)  Hey– I’m only being honest here.  I recognized (fairly) quickly my defective nature.  But the stereotype thing– for that briefest of moments…  I mean, if I hadn’t, like Saul (later Paul) had my eyes opened one day on “My road to Tarsus,” how easy it would have been for me just to let that stereotype flex and grow stronger.

It was a couple of people eating chicken.  That’s it.  Now granted, driving down the street, all windows open for all the world to see all the lip-smacking-goodness is hardly any way to beat down ”the image;” that’s an individual choice, and not for me to judge.  But let’s just go back to the dictionary definition of stereotype now…

“Oversimplified standard image….”  “Black people love chicken.”  That’s oversimplified alright.  You know who I blame for stereotyping?  I blame PEOPLE!!  PEOPLE.  People are to blame for taking the easy, quick, method of classifying and categorizing everything and everyone.  We’re lazy sometimes, all of us.  We’re all guilty sometimes and fall into that snare of trying to pigeon-hole other human beings.  Really, when you boil it all away, (and in moments of clarity I’ve said this before) there’s really one type– it’s the human type.  Someday, probably not in my lifetime, but someday– we’ll all understand this.  Stereotyping will be a thing of the past. 

Some fine day, ribs, chicken, and watermelon won’t define black people.  Landscapers and lawn care guys won’t necessarily have to be Mexican.  A male nurse or hairdresser won’t automatically be thought of as gay.  Muslims won’t be instantly feared as bomb-carrying terrorists.  There are so many more probably embedded in my own mind that, when I try I can’t even bring them up.  Sad, because they’ll probably pop up sometime when I’m NOT mentally searching for one or two.

You probably have your own, am I right?  Would it be wrong to ask you to bring them here?  Maybe to drop them off and dump them here like the garbage they are?  Bring me your stereotypes, your worn and overused, oversimplified images of other humans and groups of humans.  Bring them here to the ZebraBlog and drop them off to stay forever.  Let’s get them out into the open and expose them.  Let’s talk about how & why they maybe started, then more important, stick the dagger in your own personal favorite stereotype right here, on our blog.  What fun! 

I want to say again, (because I’m feeling just a tad guilty… like the proverbial pot calling the kettle, uhm, black) I joke about stereotypes with my family.  Trusting that the way I live my life– my actions and habits reflect my true feelings, I point out things like the chicken lady, or the Asian lady who can’t see over her steering wheel, etc.  In some strange way, they’re fun to play with.  But the seriousness of the issue is not.  Stereotypes, taken to ignorant, hurtful extremes are a dangerous scourge.  Let’s continue to do our parts to do away with them.                   

And quite shameless too I’ll admit, and then somewhat proudly proceed to do it anyway.  In the end, you’ll see there is a tie-in. 

A friend of ours entered a photo I took of our Beagle puppy Pez into a “Cutest Pet Contest.”  I don’t ask too much of our loyal readers, do I?  The occasional comment maybe?  Respond on a topic or two from time to time?  Well now I’m asking.  Do us a big, big favor?  Click this link and vote for “Pez” as cutest pet of all!!

The tie in is this:  We call Pez our only child because he is clearly multi-racial; white, brown, and black!

Vote early & often for “Pez, Son of ZebraCouple”

And as always, we welcome your comments~~ whether it’s about Pez or my cheezy plug. 

Thanks everybuddy!!

Anyone who knows me knows that I’m a wannabe writer / journalist.  As I begin writing this “Special Edition” post, (note that it’s today’s second) Que is doing what she can to stop the press, and supress free media.  Undaunted, my journalistic integrity is stronger than my fear of sleeping on the futon with the dogs tonight!  So I’ll continue as though I was writing this piece for my local paper…

Police are baffled by a gruesome discovery along State Route 50 this evening.  A man walking his dog near the road discovered what appeared to be human hair!  The hair, reddish brown and permed was discovered around 6pm.  Approximately 12-inches in length, it is believed that the dog was lured to the scene by the strong scent of geri-curl.  

This reporter has traced the hair back to “Que” (ZebraCouple, dark half).**  Witnesses say she was in the passenger seat of a top-down, doors-off south bound Jeep Wrangler around 5pm.  As the vehicle crossed over the Interstate, blustery winds whipped the loosely clipped hairpiece from the nub of her own real hair.  The lovely & lustrous locks did a single loopty-loop around the inside of the Jeep before going airborne.

“I thought a bird had flown into the car,” Que’s husband, clearly shaken later stated.  “I had a split second where I might-coulda grabbed it,” he added, “but if it was a bird, or worse–some kind of flying rodent– I didn’t want any part of it!  I offered to go and try to rescue the piece, but rush hour traffic that time of day would’ve made that a perilous mission.  In other words, hairy.” 

The couple was seen a few moments later pulling into the parking lot of the local hair store, presumably to pick out a replacement piece for the roadkill-locks.   

** The original owner of the hair is believed to be an Alaskan Inuit woman named ELastaGel which, translated means, “I have no need for hair, I’m an Eskimo.”

So okay, for comedic purposes I’ve buried my lede, and the whole “police are baffled” thing makes no sense.  And forget about the Inverted Pyramid.  It’s about as inverted now as that tire-tracked weave will be round about midnight.  Just having a little fun at my great-sport-of-a-wife’s expense.  We had a great laugh over the whole thing, watching it whip about, and then back into the traffic behind us.  It was gone with the Chicago Wind.

One last note.  This is a great little insight as to how people of different cultures EVENTUALLY come to terms and understanding of the issues of their partners.  About a half-hour earlier, I’d warned Que that she might need to press her head back against the seat to “keep it on” so to speak.  If we get any closer into one another’s bizness, we may even buy a weave we can share one day.

So there’s another haphazardly scribbled title that, in the end will reflect what this post is all about, hmmmm– maybe 10%.  “Write Post” is almost Nazi-like in the way it commands us to jumpstart the creativity.  I want to begin with my thoughts, and the topic I’d like to expolre today, but WordPress places the cursor first in the title box.  I know I can tab out and come back to it later, but titles are just so much fun.  They’re like doing newspaper headlines, or captions to photos.  You want to capture and encapsulate everything into a few pithy words.  You want to hint and tease, and if you can pull it off play with words some.  Ahhhh, titles…… Now what the h-e- double hockey sticks was I about to say, anyway….?

Oh yeah– the IR gene.  Okay, so it’s a poor title.  I missed my mark.  What I was really thinking about was this.  You know the way scientists these days are always claiming they’ve found, “the gene that?”  The gene that….. causes obesity…. alzheimers….. blue eyes….. pyromanism….. etc?  You know the way the science-types are always figuring out the magic chemical or link, or deoxyrybonucleic tie between this group of rodents, or classical composers, or any such bunch of people or crawly things?  Have you seen those swabby DNA test kits that people use now to trace back their familial origins– back to our original prehistoric tribal roots?

Well I wonder if there’s such a link in the minds of people willing to inter-(race)-mingle?  Of course I’m kidding, I don’t think there exists such a natural bodily chemical.  But you never know.  They’re scientifically linking all kinds of things these days.  Maybe a hundred years from now they’ll announce the color-blindness gene, or racial tolerance gene, or…. or….. maybe the IR gene was the best top of my head choice I could have made.  Feel free to comment and suggest a better name for this new, yet undiscovered genetic strand.

What got me thinking about this was a group of pictures of interracial couples published this week on AOL.  Here’s the link (cyber not genetic) to the pictures.  It was interesting to view something like that because I don’t think I’d ever seen so many IR couples “together” before.  That and the fact that they are all famous people made me wonder what it is about them– about me too– and maybe you too if you’re reading this– open, willing, and loving of someone not like us.  We ventured away from those who look, act, worship, talk, etc., exactly like “our kind.”  We get it.  We understand that what binds us together is not that skin tonal thing, or that eye shape “thing;” it’s compassion.  A heartbeat.  We’ve looked beyond superficial things and found love.

Til next time……..                                                                                                                                  Your Loving hosts.

I preface what I am about to say with the by now familiar disclaimer, “These things are true of all relationships, not just interracial ones…”  But the vacation issue–that is, how to spend precious time off and much needed time away from work and worry– often is an area of minor disagreement for this black-white loving pair.

This author, (the pale half) leans to the outdoors; especially to camping, fishing, relaxing under the stars and, yes, sometimes the bugs and howling things.  Getting my wife (dark half) “out there” among the wildlife is like pulling gnat’s teeth.  Her idea of a vacation is an antiseptically clean hotel room, or better yet a cruise cabin where the only wild life one sees are the folded towel bunnies left on the made bed.  Waking up on a dry tent floor & rolling up my sleeping bag cost very little and make me a happy camper.

Don’t get me wrong– I’ve been on a couple of cruises; loved them!  But as we’ve grown older and further from our dating, “must impress / best behavior” days, I get my vacation-way much less than before.  In my mind, overnight and long weekend hotel stays outnumber weekends on the “wild” side at least two to one. 

The Zebracouple spent a few days in a semi-wooded, semi-residential area of south-central Wisconsin last week.  We enjoyed a beautifully appointed, tastefully decorated, quiet, clean cabin generously donated by a loving friend.  Within five minutes I announced to Que that I’d be returning this winter to pen my Great American Novel there.  (I later stated that I could live there.  Meant it.) 

I know she had a good time, (due in-part to the Direct TV hook-up), but she was freaked out by the caterpillars that crawled all over the outside (OUTSIDE) of the cabin.  Not a single caterpillar was spotted inside the cabin the entire time we were there!  Ants, yes, a few, but nothing else.  My wimpy Royal Caribbean wife was completely pre-occupied by the bugs whenever we left the cabin; couldn’t get to the Jeep fast enough to escape the danger! 

We both suffered a few bites of one kind or another.  One little something got her in the finger and the digit grew to about twice its original petite size.  Me, I’ve been bitten before, (even freaked out a little myself this year when a wasp or hornet stung me in the head); but this lil bug bite, whatever got her was just one more fly in the ointment- detracting away from the smell of the pine, the bright morning sunlight through the tall trees, the birdsongs, and the gentle evening breezes.  It was a beautiful relaxing setting and though there was a firepit, there was no way my African American bride was going to sit ”out there” for any length of time.  “Too buggy.” 

There, I did it.  See up there in that previous paragraph?  I played the race card.  I made the point that my black wife is no outdoors—-woman.  It’s okay, I love her to pieces anyway!  Who knows, I maybe even love her in some weird way because she is a wimp about such things.  Makes me feel “MANLY.”  A little lonely sometimes too, truth be told because I do love nature a lot.  Wish she did too.  But I can still get some of that on the high seas whenever we can scrape up enough cash for a big boat ride.

Is the whole camping thing a black-white issue?  I have to say that I see mostly only white people when I’m tenting, or fishing.  Why is that?  I know black people fish.  We live in the suburbs of a large metro area and I see black men and women fishing often in forest preserve area ponds and lakes.  I never see them up in Canada or Wisconsin or Minnesota where I’ve fished.  What’s up with that?

Tell us your side of this.  Maybe you can help convert my wife.  Maybe your comments will only cement her belief that she ought not stray more than 20 miles from the nail or hair store.  But we’d still like to know– How will other IR couples spend their vacations this year?  Do you, becasue of the whole mixed ethnicity / culture thing, have any leisure / vacation time conflicts?  How do you resolve them or compromise?  Weigh in.  Looking forward to your comments.     

Now there’s a holiday I would’ve missed 10 years ago.  For anyone interested in the Interracial “cause,” yes Loving Day is a holiday– at the very least it is one of those days with plenty of good reason for pause and relection.  For on June 12, 1967, the United States Supreme Court ruled for Mildred and Richard Loving and struck down Virginia’s 305 year old law against miscegenation, (the cohabitation, sexual relations, or marriage of persons of different races).

Here’s a link to an interactive map which shows each state and its progression from ”territory” through legalization of mixed marriages:

Ours is not a history site, it’s blog.  But there’s so much more to this decision than just the court’s ruling in Loving V. Virginia.  Note the timing.  Wasn’t the Civil Rights Movement in full swing by 1967?  As we pay mindful tribute to the Lovings, we cannot forget that, great as their struggle was, that they were standing on the big shoulders of others with courage, vision, and big dreams! 

I have a tendency to take some things for granted.  Certain rights feel like they’ve always been there and always will be there.  I guess it’s because this was really so recent in our history, 41 years ago.  And at the risk of sounding flippant, I know that it sometimes takes way too long in this country to right tragic wrongs.  But I am glad that we live in a country where we can have our say, argue and protest, write to congress, vote people in, vote them out.  In America we can voice our opinions.  Like Amy Grant says, “It takes a little time sometimes to turn the Titanic around.  Read the Lovings’ story, that’s just what they helped do.

Jay here again, (the “paler” half). 

I was wondering if any of my friends out there in Interracialand ever envisioned themselves in “mixed” relationships, (dating, marriages, children, etc) long before they happened?  In other words, was a relationship with a person of a different ethnicity in your plans?  Was it something you sought out?  Or did it just happen for you, out of the blue so to speak?

Me, I always had a kind of curiosity about black women.  It started when I was very young.  I really can’t explain it other than to say that I found women of color very attractive.  Hearing something like that said today sounds very strange– of course African American women are beautiful.  So are Asian women, Latinas, Swedes, Poles, Brits, and Eskimos women.  Well, maybe not Eskimo women.  Apologies to all my Inuit blogger lady friends.  *** Note, if you are Inuit and consider yourself an Ice-Hottie, please feel free to respond with pics.  ***  This is one post I’ll definitely have to “get wifey’s permission” to publish.  Either that or take my chances that I’ll be sleeping with the dogs tonight…..

Ahhh, feels good to be digressing again!  So of course women from all around the world are beautiful; no brainer.  But when I was a boy, (back when the Lovings were battling it out with Virginia) little boys didn’t say such things out loud.  Even as a young man in the seventies it was still a little rebellious to admit that a black woman was hot.  Obviously at some point, I got over it, and so did most of the rest of the world.

Still, I never really thought about “going out and getting me one.”  ***Now please don’t send nasty cards and letters saying I shouldn’t oughta talk that way– I’m being very, very, very informal– comfortable.  Okay here:  I never once considered seeking out a relationship with a woman outside the white-o-sphere.  Thought I’d be a closet ”freak” all my life.  C’mon, you know what I mean!!! 

I know I’ve shared this before, but it’s worth repeating.  When the sweetest, nicest, kindest, warmest, most caring, loving, fun, exciting, interesting and adventurous woman steps into your life, it doesn’t matter if she’s orange.  My wife  rocks my world to this day.  I am blessed and would feel this way whatever color God painted her.  (Unless He painted her Inuit!)  What I’m saying here, in my usual round the world in 800-words way, is that my wife; the woman I call my “best decision ever,” came from out of the blue.  Now what about your Interracial partner??

Some might just consider themselves “open” to the idea of dating outside their race and culture.  Some may be adamant that they will ONLY date other ethnicities, maybe they’ve honed in on a specific race they’re “targeting.”  (All this sounds somewhat creepy to me as I type it, but I can’t really say there’s anything wrong with having personal preferences when it comes to appearances, personalities, attitudes and behavior, etc.  And that’s all this really is– we want the freedom to choose a mate with attributes that we admire.)  Wow.  This almost sounds like the perfect argument to use with someone who’s anti-”mixing it up.”

Who of you out there sought out, or is seeking out an Interracial, Intercultural, etc. relationship?  Who is open to the idea, but not seeking?  These are the folks we want to hear from– drop us a line or three if you have the time to weigh in on this.  We’d love to hear your reasons why only a man or woman of <insert color, religion, race, or nationality here> will do.  How do you explain your attraction, or lack thereof?  What attributes in members of other ethnicities do you find titillating, arousing, peak your curiosity?

If you’re open, but not seeking– what stops you?  Mr. or Ms. “Something New“ just hasn’t stumbled into you yet?  Mom & Dad would go through the roof?  Hesitant that things might get…. complicated?  If that’s the case, know this: things get complicated whenever two people co-mingle.  It’s gonna happen if you survive long enough in a relationship.  So far, (eight years+) I can honestly say that the ZebraCouple has had no race-related “complications.”  We’re just two imperfect, Loving humans co-mingling the best we know how.

Or, how about this curve ball?  Are you open to dating outside your race, but only with a certain specific other ethnicity?  What’s up with that?  ‘Splain that to us all, would you please?

COMING TOPIC:                           

What’s in a name?  What are the socially correct names for today’s ethnic and racial cultures?  Because I grew up in a black and white world, I learned numerous names, labels, and some slurs of course.  In time, some of those labels vanished– new ones took their place.  Some of the slurs became acceptable, some are still guaranteed to raise (at least) an eyebrow.  Just what are the preferred titles for the people of the world?  One (not so) simple example: do people from England (or is it the U.K?) prefer to be called English, British, Brits, or another variant?  Here in the states, at one time, (maybe still I’m not sure) black people preferred to be called African American.  In the U.K., do they prefer African British?  Oh, this is gonna be good.  Confusing.  I predict approximately 12 digressions minimum.  Stay tuned……

For months I’ve been intrigued about the dilemma African American Democratic women faced this year for the first time ever; having to choose between a political candidate who represents their gender, and another who represents their ethnicity.

I know this post is not very timely with Hillary Clinton preparing to announce her concession and support for Barack Obama.  Still, I’ve been curious about how women of color have considered this issue.  My wife, who many of you already know is African American, says that this was a topic of great interest in the black community.  **For the record, there are still a few places she and I don’t often go together– music and radio stations we don’t force on each other.  And I stay as far away from any place that sells hair, yes– sells hair , women’s hair  as I possibly can!   (First digression.)

Other than the few African American women I specifically talked to on the subject, I heard nothing else on the matter.  Whether it was a timing issue, or whether it just went unreported, I don’t know.  But I have an inquiring mind and ”I wanna know!” 

So without any further chattering from me, I ask:  HOW DID AFRICAN AMERICAN WOMEN DEMOCRATS CHOOSE BETWEEN HILLARY CLINTON AND BARACK OBAMA?  I’m interested in more than just who did you choose.  I’m interested in the thought process and the rationale behind your choice.  If you supported Clinton, then how did you justify the willingness to pass on the first viable black candidate for the highest office in the land of the free?  If you supported Barack, why did you, and was it a difficult choice, given that your other option was an historical one as well?

Any Republican Black women out there?  Of course there are!  We’d love to hear from you too!  As my wife might say, “Giiiiiiiiirrrrrl, what in the world are you thinking!?”  You know, that third option almost didn’t even occur to me, but of course there are African American conservatives in our audience.  Please share with us how you opted for whichever GOP candidate you did, and were there any mixed emotions about doing so?

Please be very specific with your answers.  Explaining reasons and rationale can be a tedious chore, but I think the insight into all sides of this will be fascinating, and will make for great conversation fodder.  We look forward to all your comments!     

This post’s working title is God.  I don’t know if that’s going to stick or not.  If you’re reading all this, it probably did.  The title is GOD because not one of the many others I considered captured the essence of what I hope to write about.  Not religion, faith, church, belief or believers; Christianity, Baptist, Screaming Eagle Missionary, Pentecostal, etc.ad nauseum.  This post contains some of the “paler half’s” musings on spirituality.

Wow.  Big topic.  I  don’t expect to be able to say it all in one sitting; so let’s start off with the “probable promise,” to come back to this one again real soon.

‘Bout all I know is, (and I know this is true because I read it somewhere recently in the Blogosphere)– that churches are among the most racially segregated places in society.  Don’t you find that wildly ironic?  It was in somebody’s (I wish I’d jotted it down for proper blog-citation-etiquette) post about Obama, and inflammatory pastoral remarks, etc.  We’ve all gotten both ears full of that recently, haven’t we?  Beyond embarrassing a couple of presidential hopefuls, it served to remind me of the chasm that seems to separate even same-faith believers; that is, the different worship and church-styles between Christian Blacks and Whites. 

As I mentioned in an earlier post, it’s my belief that God doesn’t see color.  (He’s not color blind as some say, because technically that would be a defect.  And we all know that perfetion only exists sans defects.)  But I’m certainly not perfect as demonstrated by my inability to stick to a point!!  So God sees each of us only as His own creation.  I think a lot of believers feel as He does.  The frustrating thing is that, for the most part, on Sundays we tend to keep to our own White houses and Black houses of worship.

There are exceptions to be sure.  I’ve seen some of the Mega Church palaceson TV; they cut away all the time to show how wonderfully diverse they are.  I attended a church service once with a very balanced salt ‘n peppa congregation.  I didn’t enjoy the service.  Nor did I enjoy the service the time or two I went with my wife and family to the Mom-in-Law’s (99% black) church on the west side of Chicago.  It wasn’t my cup of tea.  Not for me.  Not the style I was used to.  I was too distracted by the many glaring differences; uncomfortable with them actually to ever go back again. 

Now I know what you’re thinking.  You want to know if my “darker half” has ever gone with me to my (99% lilly-white) church in the suburbs.  Answer, Yes.  Of course she has.  Not once but a few times, actually.  But let’s don’t forget that my wife is a beautiful, mature, woman.  Far more tolerant and flexible (and mature) than the husband she spoils.  But even she has admitted that it was a little “reserved” for her tastes.  Look, we haven’t been back to a church in a couple of years, though we both long for it.  We have talked about it, so I cannot say that it’s an unspoken issue.  But we don’t talk about it anymore.  It certainly is an unresolved issue.  It is not however, pressing at this time.  It should be, but honestly is not just yet.

Black people worship crazy!  They scream and shout and wail and jump about and fall and cry and ”Amen” all the time, and “Uh-huh” the preacher.  The women wear fluorescent pant suits, dresses, and hats, and the men wear suits of red and yellow— YELLOW!!!  The church I went to passed around large gold buckets for the offering, then rushed them off, under guard mind you– to a locked room!  At “MY” Church, the offering baskets are plain and wooden.  You can see where this will end up if I keep going…..

My church and people nearly worshiped my wife into a blissful slumber.  What’s solemn and somber, serious and passionate to me, are boring and, who knows– maybe snobbish? to her.  It’s an issue as I said before that we could use some advice with.  We’ve considered alternating one week hers, one week mine, but that’s no real solution.  We’d each like to have one church family. 

Right now our blog readership is minuscule.  That’s okay– I’m a writer.  Writers write.  But it sure would be nice to get dozens of responses / comments about this post if only to learn what other IR couples do with this issue short of giving up as, to this point, we have.

So, in the words of the late, great Harry Caray:  Lemme hear ya, good and loud!