My Husband is Either Too Black or Not Black Enough
Black Americans are all too often denied their complexity
In my 20s, I dated a man who grew up Mormon in Salt Lake City. He was in the Boy Scouts, adored Star Wars, and played football in high school. When he came of age in the 1990s, he loved listening to Red Hot Chili Peppers. His mother worked for the state and his stepdad, a retired army drill sergeant, fixed cars. When this man and I started dating, he had just completed EMT school and was studying to be a paramedic.
In my 20s, I also dated a man from Cincinnati who went to 11 different schools as a child. He never finished high school, hustled as a young adult, and spent half a year in jail. When he came of age in the 1990s, he loved playing basketball and listening to Tupac. His mother managed a 7–11 and his father, who lived in another state, was largely absent from his life. About eight months before this man I started dating, he had split up with his five-year-old son’s mother and been laid off from his factory job.
Which one of these men do you think is Black?
You may be feeling distinctly uncomfortable right now, wondering what point I’m trying to prove. But you can stop squirming because it’s a trick question.
