Published by She’s messy but he’s neat. He’s a worrier but she’s care free. Opposites attract, right? How many times have we heard it said, “Their relationship works because they complement each other?” But what if she’s black and he’s white or vice-versa? All of a sudden, not so complementary, to still so many. People stare and whisper to each other. You ignore it and maybe even tell yourself that it’s not about us. But you know it is. Why?
I won’t try to sugar coat this. I grew up in a racially unfriendly home. Nigger, spick, gook, chink, I heard them all and then some. I spoke them, along with many more variations, all directed at so many whose only fault was failing to look like me. In my home racism was learned. “A generational curse” is how I describe it. I had no reason, not that there ever is one, to speak in such hateful terms. I had suffered no violence at the hands of any of these people. I had not lost my first wife to an Asian man. I didn’t lose my livelihood to a black man. When my father was a young man, he was once robbed at gunpoint by two black men and he served in the army during the Korean War. I’m sure those experiences influenced his views and attitudes toward people of color and Asians, but that is a long time to carry around that much hatred. It’s not healthy. It eats you away from the inside.
I once heard that carrying around hate and unforgiveness is like drinking poison and expecting the person you hate to die, when in fact you’re the one dying and the person you hate is off enjoying life. It doesn’t make much sense when you look at it that way. But this is what I learned was acceptable when I was growing up.
Eventually I would come to realize that my expressions of hate and prejudice were mild compared to some. Scary, huh?
It wasn’t until I was twenty-four years old that I became friends with a black guy. Carl and I worked together and actually became quite close over time. We lifted weights together, went to the bars and clubs on the weekends and even double-dated a few times. He was an all around good guy, we had a lot in common and I didn’t care what he looked like.
But at the time, even though I was an adult, I was living with my parents and because of what had been ingrained in me all those years, I knew I couldn’t bring Carl to the house. I’d always meet him at his home or where we were going. Did he ever wonder? Did he somehow just know?
I took a huge step toward setting aside what people think when I invited Carl to my wedding. He would be the only black person there, but if he didn’t care, I didn’t either, or so I thought. Carl brought a date to the wedding. His girlfriend at that time was a white girl.
Carl and his girlfriend arrived late for the wedding, so much so that my new wife and I were already outside the church greeting guests when I saw his car pull into the parking lot. I felt a wave of fear at the thought of what might happen or what might be said to him at some point during the festivities, especially when alcohol took hold.
As Carl and his girlfriend walked up to greet us my brother leaned into me and muttered a sarcastic, “Oh brother.”
At that moment, even though Carl was my friend, I wished he hadn’t come. I hated myself for thinking it.
My marriage ended after nine years. I was left with an awesome one-year-old son. Three years after that I remarried. I vowed that I wouldn’t remarry after the divorce, but I fell for this woman the moment I first saw her. Not only was there a complimentary psychological and spiritual connection, I was also, and still am, mesmerized by her beauty — her full lips and perfect white teeth, her exotic almost Asian-like eyes, her shimmering jet black hair pulled back neatly into a pony tail and her full cheeks that add just a hint of little girl cuteness. It was pointless to try and resist. Oh, and I almost forgot — her stunning dark caramel complexion.
I really outdid my first wedding. There wasn’t just one black person; there were about seventy. And the most important one was my bride.
I expected to sense, hear and feel resistance to our relationship from the world, but I didn’t expect it to be so intense from my family. I knew the way they were, but I was naïve enough to think it would all change when me, their brother and son, showed how happy I was and they had a chance to see what an exceptional person my new wife is. I was wrong.
“Johnny what are you doing?” My mom always calls me Johnny and not John when I’ve done something to cause her stress.
“What are you talking about? I’m just living my life. I’m happy again.”
“You weren’t raised like this!”
“Just because I was raised that way doesn’t make it right. I love Rayna and the color of her skin doesn’t matter to me, just like the color of her hair and eyes make no difference to me.”
“Why couldn’t you find a nice white girl?”
“Why, to please you…to save you embarrassment? I found who I found and love who I love and that’s all there is to it.”
She hung up after saying, “I’m sorry, but I can’t do this.”
Prior to getting married Rayna took me to a Sunday service at her church. I have to admit that I was somewhat apprehensive about going to a “black” church. I prepared myself to experience the hard stares, sideways glances, snickers and sneers and the overwhelming feeling of being out of place, but I loved her so I went. It turned out to be an experience like none other, and I wished my family had experienced it as a lesson in human relations.
From the moment I stepped inside the door I never before had felt such warmth, love and acceptance. I wasn’t the only white person, but I was part of the less than one percent. But it didn’t matter, the hugs, handshakes and welcoming words were too numerable to count. If there was anyone there that wasn’t happy about my presence, I never sensed or felt it.
Just a few weeks later I joined this church and for the past couple of years Rayna and I have been serving in the church’s youth ministry. When I first felt the calling to the youth ministry I thought it must’ve been a mistake. Sure I had a great experience of acceptance with the adults, but now acceptance of an older white guy by a group of predominantly black teenagers was asking a bit much. Being able to relate, interact and make an impression on these kids was going to take a miracle. Well a miracle must have occurred because it’s been both fun and rewarding. What I found is that if you’re genuine, transparent and show the kids that you truly love and care about them they don’t care about your skin color… or your age.
Anyway, back to my family. My mother, brothers and ex-wife didn’t approve of my relationship nor my affiliation with the “black church”, but I didn’t care. Actually, I did care but I couldn’t let it sway me.
“I have to tell you that I’m concerned what you’re exposing my son to.”
“He’s my son too and all you have to do is ask. I’m exposing him to learning about God. I’m exposing him to people who love him. And he’s learning to accept and love people for who they are and not what they look like.”
“Have you considered how merciless kids can be and the ridicule he’ll suffer when you bring her to his school and games?”
“Yeah, I’ve considered it and this is what I believe. I believe that Evan will be strong and stand up for what is right. I believe that he will be a catalyst for change and acceptance in his circle of friends.”
I had never in my life felt as happy, content, fulfilled, complete and useful. I finally felt as though I was living the life that had been designed for me and no matter who it was I couldn’t let them get me off track. I couldn’t let them change me back because they didn’t like my wife’s or the people I went to church with skin color. Would you have not married your spouse if your family had not approved of her hair or eye color? I’ll venture to say no, and as ridiculous as that sounds is how ridiculous my family’s disapproval sounded to me.
I had to change them and break down this wall of unacceptance, but I would need help. I wanted and needed to be the one in my family to end the “generational curse” of prejudice and bigotry. I could not let it be passed on to my son.
Despite their feelings my brothers performed their family duty and attended my wedding, my mother did not. I was once again amazed at the power of this prejudice as it could cause a mother to boycott her son’s wedding. For about a year I continued to take my son to visit my mother on alternate weekends. There were some family functions that we weren’t invited to and some we chose to miss for the simple fact of not wanting to stir up any more strife. During this same time Rayna and I began cultivating friendships with people from our church. I’m happy to say we’ve become very close with some. We are welcome in their homes and they are in ours…the way it should be.
During this entire time I did my best to not alienate my mother more but still be proud of my wife and not be apologetic for my decisions. Most importantly I prayed and trusted God to change her heart to be more tolerant and accepting of people. I realized that I wasn’t capable of changing anyone and trying would only lead to failure and fighting. What I did do, my wife as well, was to keep on loving people. Hating their beliefs and attitudes, but loving them. I give Rayna a lot of credit for handling things this way because it would have been very easy and understandable for her to become offended and angry.
God revealed to us that our battle was not a physical battle but a spiritual one, and the way to fight a spiritual battle is to pray and trust God for the victory. We were battling the evil spirits of hatred and prejudice not the people themselves. What would physically or verbally fighting them achieve in the end? It would have caused violence, possible physical injury, lawsuits, hurt feelings, alienation…nothing good. Our part was to continue to treat people the same way that we wanted to be treated. It seems easy in theory, but let me tell you, it was very difficult to control the tongue and emotions in order to not lash out. It took God’s supernatural strength and discipline on top of ours in order to overcome.
Our prayer was simple and to the point, “Lord, we pray that You soften their hearts and open their minds to change. We pray that You break down the walls of hate and prejudice. We ask You to bring us all closer together to live in harmony. And we pray that You provide us the patience and strength to continue to love them. We thank You in advance for the victory over this evil spirit of racism. Amen.
It was about a year later when my mom’s number came up on my caller ID. With the nervous feeling in my belly that precedes confrontation, I again prepared to defend my life decisions and answered. “Hello.”
“Hi, it’s mom. I was wondering if you and Rayna wanted to join us for Easter dinner?”
After I looked heavenward and mouthed an appreciative thank you, I said, “Yeah, of course. Do you need us to bring anything?”
Since then Rayna and I have attended every family function. The relationships with everyone have been harmonious. Rayna and my mom have gone shopping together, we went away for the weekend together, my mom attended our church and Rayna helped my mom redecorate her house. It has been an answered prayer and a blessing.
The curse of racism and prejudice is not easily broken but it can be done with God’s help. If you know someone who needs to change, pray for them. If you realize you need to change, commit to it and ask God for His help. One other thing God revealed to me is that there is only one race…the human race.
