At Very Smart Brothas, Damon Young writes:
I never quite got what it meant until finally meeting someone who hit me with so many reasons why I needed to be with her that I just couldn’t fight it anymore. I was too fatigued by reason. Too exhausted by realization. Too beat to continue to deny that I’d fallen in love with a woman who happened to be white.
Even now, eight months after we first met, it remains jarring to see in print. So jarring that in the last sentence of the previous paragraph, I typed “woman who happened to be white” instead of “white woman,” a linguistic device subtly minimizing the fact that her whiteness has been and will always be very conspicuous.
It—her whiteness—was the very first thing I noticed about her. We were introduced to each other through a mutual friend. She recently moved back Pittsburgh after living in California for a couple years, and the friend thought it would be a good idea to connect. We exchanged emails, made plans to meet each other at a nearby Panera, and I assumed she’d be not white.
I was wrong.
She is not thick for a white girl, she is not “down,” she does not look like “she could be mixed.” There’s nothing I can say that would make her seem “less white.” Aside from the fact the she’s currently engaged to a black man, she is, both literally and culturally, one of the whitest women I’ve ever met.
Read more — and don’t miss the kicker to all of this — at Very Smart Brothas.