Carol, such a beautiful piece of writing that also resonates with me for various reasons. First, come November 28, I will have been married to an Italian-American who’s a society-identified white guy, for 39 years. Both in the Navy, we met and married at the Defense Language Institute in Monterey, CA. We have two grown sons, now 38 and 35 years old and, the oldest, with his half-Native American, half-British wife, a medically discharged Air Force veteran, injured in Iraq (Yep, we’ve got a whole United Nations thing going on here!) have given us two, beautiful, grand-daughters. Second, I too follow Marley K. because I love her writing and — she’s a South Carolina homegirl! Her challenge to you was profound, and you more than met it with the experiences you shared. Third, I’m now back living in “the belly of the beast” in San Antonio for the third time — and not a damned thing has changed (Austin’s seen as more “cosmopolitan” down here).

I experienced what Black people experience every day in White America. Initial discomfort, some fear, awareness of being watched, and the weird knowledge that there were aspects of the Black experience being hidden from me, until people forgot I was there. It was then I could absorb the linguistics and the interactions that Black people often did not exhibit in a White environment. I learned to Dap and picked up the lingo.

That shit right there was on point! I remember the husband feeling all of that when I first brought him home to meet my Charleston, SC family. I remember taking him to meet my Sea Island Grandmama for the first time, and it followed the whole Jim Crow script, where she came to me, to ask him, if he’d cut her grass because she’d been so conditioned not to look white folk in the eyes, nor ask them to do anything for her. I asked him, he said of course, and went about doing it while my Mama, my aunt who also lived on the island and my Grandmama sat on her porch. After asking him, as I came in the side door to the screened porch, I overheard them talking. My aunt said to my Mama, “I can’t believe she married that white man! The first time he calls her nigger, she’ll see” (one of those aspects of the Black experience being hidden)! I told the three of them, “Y’all wrong, he ain’t that kinda guy.” And he wasn’t. His playing basketball in the CYO (Catholic Youth Organization) in the upstate NY city from which he hails, first exposed him to the camaraderie of the Black teams like St. John’s, and then when he went in the Navy, he experienced it for himself.

When you said,” I learned to Dap,” I just ‘bout fell off my damned chair! That’s when I knew you were tellin’ the damned truth about your experiences (I’m writing a piece now on cultural misappropriation to be published soon) because, the selection of Obama made “Dap” become a “fist-bump” and I don’t like it at all, because it’s so much deeper than that!

Once, driving in her car, she said to me, “I just hate White people.” I felt honored that she trusted me enough to share that feeling. Another time we were getting dressed at her apartment to go out. I wanted to wear a white blouse, but was concerned it was too see-through. She said, “Just wear a black bra under it.” I answered, “Yeah, that just won’t work for me like it does for you.”

Another real moment in your commentary, Sister! I tell the husband that shit all the time along with, “Nope, I don’t do white-boy Dap!” whn he leans over in solidarity to something felt, read or saw. And the black bra thing? So damned real, I couldn’t help but laugh out loud when I read it!!

Apart from hair texture and skin tone, he looks very much like me. That’s how deeply racism and prejudice is embedded in America.

No shit! This applies to my youngest and his father. The oldest is built exactly like him, but looks more like me. You’re so right, it’s definitely an indication of that, “one-drop rule” that folk keep saying is gone — but is not.

As you said, “Now is better for Black and White friendships, but not enough.” However, given what you’ve shared, I think you’ve purposely done the work that’s obviously resulted in a great son who both, loves you and himself. To me, it’s never been about “transcending race,” or “Teaching Tolerance” (an SPL program which I tried using in the Keys when I lived, worked and around which I held monthly dialogues on race when I was an OpEd writer for the local newspaper there) to which you’ve obviously been exposed. I don’t want to be tolerated, dammit! It’s acceptance or nothing at all, far as I’m concerned.

Granted he hasn’t suffered like his ancestors did, and because of his dual heritage, and our travels, he is comfortable in all cultural settings. It’s far more common for his generation to have friends from all cultures, and to visit each other’s homes, and to live together. I am grateful for progress. However, there is always more progress to be made.

Exactly!! Having been “military brats,” my sons move through the world exactly as your son but, being grown men in TX, I still worry about them, just as you do. Their circle of friends looks just like his! I appreciate your having raised Blake knowing “from whence he came,” as James Baldwin wrote. He’s a lucky guy.

As you can tell by the length of my response, I absolutely loved reading your piece! It mirrors my lived experiences like a roll of film — waiting to be developed (yeah kids, you can say, “Okay Boomer” here, cuz nobody develops film anymore but anyway).

Thanks for sharing…