The Bubble
I remember waking up on Valentine’s Day to my dad holding a box of chocolates and some cute stuffed animal. He would always tell me that the day was about love. He’d explain how much he loved me and how important it was that I choose a partner/husband that loved me as much as he did (in different ways obviously, but you get the point). He was my first Valentine. He would also buy my mom flowers, candy, and beautiful pieces of jewelry. They were married 50 years before he passed away. He proposed on the night of their senior ball at Redwood High School. Their love wasn’t perfect, but it was unconditional. I knew I was blessed to witness their example of dedication to each other, their marriage, and their children.
I never questioned if I’d find love. Ever since I was a little girl, I dreamed of building a life with someone. Some of my closest friends would argue that at times my husband wasn’t the best person for me to date. Not his fault though. When I met him, I knew he was the one. I think he had a feeling but was too young to commit to forever (especially with a white girl from Marin). We met in 1998 at St. Mary’s College of California. It was our freshman year. He was from Los Angeles, and it was his birthday. I asked him if his mom was bringing him a cake and when he said she couldn’t make it, I went to Baskin Robbins with my childhood BFF and got him our favorite cake. We gathered a bunch of roommates and sang to him. We became fast friends—that part was pretty amazing. Two young adults from two very different worlds who instantly connected through friendship.
I’d be lying if I said the entire courtship was magical. In truth, it was painful at times. I always felt honored to have access to a family and culture I’d never otherwise be introduced to. But there was, and still is, so much learning and unlearning to do. During my sophomore year of college, I declared a minor in Political Science. I had no idea about how deeply rooted racism is in our country. Sometimes I longed to be back in my bubble. I couldn’t believe all that I was experiencing as a white woman dating a black man. I could share so many stories of micro-aggressions and implicit bias that I witnessed him receive (and sometimes still do). He is the nicest human ever, but I am sure you already assumed that.
I always considered myself an inclusive minded person. Growing up in Marin provided me with the belief that I was liberal enough. But what Marin lacks without question is diversity. And without diversity/exposure we only get to imagine how inclusive we would be. After ten years of dating on and off (six years long distance) we got married in our college campus chapel. I swore I’d never move back to Marin to raise our children, and yet here I am—never say never. I am happy to be here with all of you raising our biracial black daughters. I am hopeful that the community continues to want to learn and unlearn. I am willing to be the person that challenges stereotypes and misconceptions. Although I have to admit, sometimes it is tiring. I live a life of privilege while simultaneously witnessing the injustices of systematic racism.
My hope for you this month (written in February for Black History Month) is that you are able to truly appreciate your partner and the life you have built together. Don’t be afraid to show your children what real love looks like and don’t be afraid to fall in love with different cultures (even if you have to find them somewhere other than in Marin).
Remember, you cannot teach what you do not know.
You an also find this article on Soutern Marin Mother’s Club.