The African-American community is a place where I have tried my best to avoid identifying with after realizing that it had not progressed much after so many decades of complacency. I threw my hands up on black men back in the 1990’s because those that were worth a damn were either more educated black women or with someone outside the race. I do not blame the brothers that got out, because I deliberately did the same. As a casualty of my decision, my friends from the ghetto had to go. I made sure to make a clean break. I have no grand illusions, because people will still judge me based on my skin-color. However, I find it easier to accept being qualified by affluent whites than by worthless blacks.
I speak this truth because growing up in poverty with ignorant people around you (including family) that cared not to open a book was not my cup of tea. I am much happier living in Orange County, California with a powerful white man by my side. It is so awkward during our family reunions to see my sister still with a black man with no job and their six kids. I learned from my mother’s failure as a strong black woman that it is all BS. There was nothing strong about her but the will to whip our asses and screw men on a regular basis, including the three that my high-yellow sister struggled to love each day.
Even though black folks care not to admit it, I found no glory in being black, poor, and irrelevant. Yes, I am a sell-out if you could call it so, but at least I made it out of that environment and even though white people will not accept me as their own, it is much better than the way black have treated me my whole life. I don’t have to wear a weave for my white husband, I don’t have to have tattoos, and I don’t have to wear revealing clothes to appeal to him. The self-esteem the community took from me in my formative years are restored with him. And I was so glad when he said he was an atheist. He thought it was a deal-breaker, but in fact it was a turn-on, because even though my mother took us to church, I never took it seriously because the pastor would always make it to my mother’s bedroom every other Sunday afternoon.
I find it comical that all of my former girlfriends in the South Central Los Angeles call themselves Queens and every other type of title you can think of to make themselves feel better on Facebook and Twitter. They tease men on social media and show vaginas ad ass on web cam sites for cash. However, that is their life choice and I have no compassion. So, black folks when I am with my husband and ignore you, it is not personal, it is universal.