With Thanksgiving just around the corner, I cannot help but dwell on who might be coming to dinner. Last holiday season gave me plenty of food for thought on this all too familiar and often uncomfortable racially-tinged question. One of my male relatives brought home a date for Thanksgiving who could have been Barbie's twin sister. She was blonde, thin, big-bosomed, and even had a Germanic name. She was probably very nice; but I cannot say for sure.
Jill Scott On Black Men Who Marry White Women
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She had a perfect hourglass figure, large clear eyes, a tiny waist, long slim hands, a killer sense of dress and smooth dark skin. The only trait I shared with her was her skin color. My mother always spoke of this with pride. It was a treasure to be kept whole through diligent care — applications of thick, pasty Eucerin lotion, which used to come in a tub, worked into the skin as it melted down and made everything smooth and shiny. My grandmother used the silkier Nivea instead — kept on the dresser in her all-white bedroom, applied throughout the day. The smell of it still reminds me of the elegance of her life. That dark skin was the most beautiful was the logic of my family.
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Let me clear some things up now. This is not a post telling you to date an African man over an African-American man. No indeed. It is about giving our motherland brothers a chance.
But what about the guys? Could we expect the tropes of simplicity and predictability with regard to African-American males and the same subjects? Again, the results were surprising and complex. Welcome to