His Blackness is Running Me Off…

The white beads on the African neckpiece. The white T-shirt that should be covered up with a black on. The little comments about what the “brothers” say we should do and be. I’m over it all.

When it started, it was cool because it was like you taking a course on diversity and I had hoped that you would be teaching me as you learned. But this course has somehow turned into a cult that you obsessively follow. I am not included. By choice — yours and mine. You don’t want me to hear the conversations because you think I’m not interested. I’m pissed because you are more involved with the videos than the family.

Now, it’s like I’m married to a stranger. We don’t speak the same language and we don’t hear the same words. Everything goes back to my blackness — or lack thereof. My kids are being taught two different theories and we all are confused as hell. What do we believe in and when did that change?

Now, the hard part needs to happen. We have to now sit and talk. You know, like in prehistoric times. Before YouTube and headphones. Before tuning each other out. When times were fun and we enjoyed each other. Now let me go find the book…because not being on the same page is an understatement…