About The Funk...

Observational Spittle from the mind of a man of color in his 40s, without the color added (most times). Come in, laugh, and you may learn something...

90 Things That Irritate The Sh** Out Of Me Trailer

Sunday, November 16, 2008

You're Thinking About My Baby, It Don't Matter If You're Black Or White

I have a zebra coalition going on in my household.

I guess the proper term for it would be "mixed"...or "mulatto." Or, as I like to say to myself (for fear that my wife will use my man stuff for microwave experiments; Ball Park Franks, people!)...

The "Bla-Kitey" Duo.

(OK, I am the only one who thinks that's funny).

My 2 sons, aged 6 and 2 (going on 3) are the products of a straight laced white girl who actually had rhythm (until 15 years working in a respected children's hospital , a car accident, and having 2 kids makes it difficult to turn around, much less shake your ass to the latest dance song) made her as fluid as sludge on a winter's day) and myself, the dark chocolate, slightly off kilter, never afraid to stick his size 11 1/2 (you know what they say about men with big feet....their toejams are thicker) in his mouth man of color. Born out of love....the world knows "who da baby daddy is."

Color...hey wait....wrote a blog about it...wanna hear it? Here it go!

You know, it's funny (why do people always say that? I mean...it may be funny to the person who's tells a story, but to the person whose listening it may be like having your pubes pulled out by Hulk Hogan as he body slams you by grabbing your crotch bristles)... My folks grew up in the Jim Crow South, and for a good chunk of my life I was always taught to not trust folks with less melanin than me (maybe that's why I have had more tanned white friends...hmm). My mom even told me point blank...

"Don't Bring a White Woman into my house."

She will deny every saying this, of course (as she has done in the past for the, oh , 3 or 4 times she was actually wrong in our relationship...parents are good at being proven right once you become an adult....f**kers), but that is what she said.

Thank God my spouse won her over...even if it took a conversation about their monthly woman thing to have them bond. (Yeah, I know...no punchline necessary...I'd rather have a V-8...shit, I just made myself sick with that line...damn it!)

Anyways, back in my rearing up in the Bronx, once I got into girls (after I got over my cartoon/Star Wars/Battle of The Planets phase) I, based upon my parent's stern warning, chased after Hispanic young ladies (they are sort of "the other white meat, 'cept cooked medium) and of course "sistas" (who I struck out with more than Reggie Jackson at the plate; that is another blog for another day). It wasn't until I got to college (and was exposed to bands like Queensr├┐che and other "white" bands...yup, another cheap pop for a future blog) that the ladies of the Caucasian Clan drew my attention (3rd cheap pop; I promise that will be the last one for this post).

Now, it wasn't like I has a master plan or anything to conquer the white flesh of America. I mean, while I listened to my folks, once I got to college, a whole different world opened up to me, and I eventually ended up marrying a woman who 17 years before we met I'd thought would never happen.

Anyway, 12 years, two Chess Boards for Children and 2 mortgages later, here I am as I approach the beginning of the 5th decade of my life, and I chuckle at times on where I am in my personal life, and how people perceive my family when we are out and about. It's funny (no it isn't, dumb ass, stop saying that!) that, based on where I live, I really don't get that much guff from being married to a white woman.

As a matter of fact, I get more dirty looks in NYC (my hometown), and that is supposed to be the "Great American Melting Pot" (Schoolhouse Rocks!)

I guess interracial relationships causes rashes or something if you toss it into the recipe.

The state I reside in has not had the most glowing history of acceptance for this sort of thing (even though it has gotten somewhat better over the last 20 years, according to my spouse; hell, I am still breathing, right?) And my marriage is not immune to the interracial angle; my spouse and I always rib each other over the black/white thing, and we have said some outrageous things to one another (which I won't repeat here; if I ever make some money off this blog to the point that I can do this for a living I'd hate for my mom to come after me...nothing worse then getting your ass kicked by a 5ft 2 inch black woman).

But, even as I wish for a world that it doesn't matter if the obvious ethnic differences (for example, if my wife's hair is dirty it's obvious (oily, looking like it is screaming for a shower), if my hair (if I had any) got dirty it would be dreadlocks), I know two things will sadly never change:

1. People still will hate me because of my skin (and, well, be jealous because I can play stickball with my penis);

and...

2. The spouse that happens to be white will never truly understand (until the Hispanics take over) what it is like to be a minority.

Oh, there is a "1a"....some folks will hate me even more because I am married to a white woman and have interracial kids. I'm so sorry that I helped "mess up" the gene pool (wait...folks who sleep with their siblings did that...I just added some Hershey's Chocolate Syrup to the mix, tis all).

I am not going to get into the whole skin color thing, 'cuz you can find 10 million arguments on both side of the equation for all that.

As for point 2, I will say this...ever so often, my spouse will, well, be a white woman. She's a wonderful person, and technically being female is almost like being a minority on this planet (hello, WASP Men...Wake me up before you go-go Don't leave me hanging on like a yo-yo!). But I don't know if it is because she's Republican, or the apple doesn't fall too far from the tree (her mother when she hugged me for the first time said "You are the first black person I've ever hugged!" Now that's small town America; I believe her...there are very few Negroes in the town she grew up in, and the ones there now I am convinced were paid by the Census bureau to make it look good), but on rare, rare occasions, she will act like part of the majority.

What do I mean?

Well, let's face it...if you don't know what it is like to be looked upon like a drug dealer, or to be assumed that you are butt-ass ignorant, or just because you like rap music you are automatically a hood, then you don't get it or truly understand it.

Especially if it has never happened to you.

Now women are looked upon as sex objects, Hispanics (supposedly) steal hubcaps and are on Section 8/Medicaid, Chinese folks stir fry dogs and cats, and so on and so on. Ignorance isn't always based on skin color.

But that ain't the subject of this sermon, so "raspberry" to you, damn it!

So let's say a Mexican woman (who obviously works in a kitchen in some restaurant, right?) marries a black guy (whose name has to end with a "quan"...duh!)

That would make them an interracial couple who steals hubcaps while listening to rap music, washing dishes on the side.

Or, they could be a doctor and a lawyer like "The Cosby Show."

The thing is....

Who the blue hell should care?

Do you question or make assumptions about white couples? Black couples (unless they have 6 kids, looking like they are trying out for "The Jerry Springer Show"...shit, that isn't right...that's for White Trailer Trash, which is the original "white" meat, only covered in mullets and NASCAR logos; black folks got "Maury.") Is that right?

Is it right for me to assume everything in the last paragraph? (Don't worry, I'll flick myself in the 'sack to punish myself for that comment).

Hell, I am guilty of it. I assume when I see a well dress white woman with a big ass rock on her finger, I assume that she has golden knee pads (and a mouth that should be registered with the CIA) and her (has to be white, she couldn't possibly be with a black/Hispanic/Chinese...wait, maybe Chinese...they're the "somewhat" other white meat without MSG) husband is probably doing his black secretary, sending her off to shop to shut her up.

Ooh...double stupidity on me....foul, 2 shots, and the ball to ignorance!

So, to conclude, there are times that I look at my wife, who has carried us for the past year because I haven't been working this year. She's exhausted, tired, grumpy, and not in the mood to play with my stickball bat these days.

I can dig that (and use past sexual experiences with her like "I Love Lucy" reruns...still good, even though it isn't like fresh new comedy). She has my highest respect, even though she is fearful that all we fought for may end up being auctioned off like pootang at a Vegas auction.

Yeah...my baby is a white woman...my boys are products of love. I mean hell, isn't that the point? Can you help who you fall in love with? A person's likes and dislikes, their tastes in the opposite (or same sex....nutter butter...4th plug...sorry, I lied!) is based on how their life's story is written. It's a matter of how your grew up, your surroundings...it is what makes you...well, you.

Let's say I never went to college...or hell, went to a church where the congregation was predominately white. (You know, I gotta stop saying "white." Y'all are like peach ice cream...usually when u're white, you're either scared, about to blow chunks due to too much alcohol, or close to dead...at that point, u r just not that doable or attractive).

Or better yet, supposed all the "sistas" out there stopped saying that I wasn't "black enough" for them?

I'd probably fall right in line, had my dark (but still sexy) kids, and a wife that would look like Halle Berry.

BAAHAAHAAHAA HAA! Naw...she'd probably look like Esther Rolle from "Good Times."

Hmm...there's a rap song by a Caucasian (yay, I didn't use white!) rap group from the late 80's/early 90's called 3rd Bass called "Products of The Environment (a very good song that relates well to the earlier point of, well, being a "product" of where you grew up)." They basically were reared around, ahem, "African-Americans" and became pretty good rappers for the short time they recorded together. One member of the group, MC Serch, did marry, well, a Caucasian female.

Now you'd figure that, hell, he used an "African-American" music genre to make some money (both albums they put out went gold, which for the time was a huge amount for a rap album), why not try to "get with" some "sistas" or a Hispanic female?

While he was a "Product Of His Environment" he fell in love with, well, I assume a woman of his ethnic and religious choice (MC Serch is Jewish).

His choice, his love.

Isn't that the point?

Yo Michael J, take the song from here.

4 comments:

chris said...

ya make a lot of good points there sir, but i'm sure most of em went over my head due to the late hour. i can say however this:

>>even if it took a conversation about their monthly woman thing to have them bond. (Yeah, I know...no punchline necessary...I'd rather have a V-8...shit, I just made myself sick with that line...damn it!)<<

may be one of the funniest things ever and i fully intend to use it somehow some way some day.

just horrifically accurate...cheers mate

grefuture said...

Chris, thank you for the kind comments. As long as I can get a chuckle and make "mates" think, then my job is done. I appreciate it!

Kat said...

Hey great post, One of my closest friends is married to a black man, her choice of description, she corrects me everytime I say African American, anyway I love it when we are out in public and people ask her how longs she's had her kids, as if she's adopted them....I love it when she says "ever since I squeezed them out my va jay jay, tends to leave them with their jaw on the floor.
Thanks for the comment and wow I made your blog list ! what a complement!

grefuture said...

You honor me, Miss Kat...your blog on parent teachers conferences had me in tears...I can only hope I can gather such a following as you have. Thanks for the kind words...and the story about your friend is hilarious!