Black Men White Women Generations

My name is Marguerite Bonheur Sinclair, and I'm here with a story to tell. I was born in the City of Montreal, Province of Quebec, on January 2, 1961. My family has been in Canada ever since the region of Quebec was called New France. I'm as French-Canadian as the fleur-de-lys itself, which kind of bothers my friends when they find out about my preference in men. I have a thing for Black men, especially the ones from the island of Haiti. I've never hidden it.

I enrolled at Concordia University in September 1979, and it was the year my life changed forever. I met a six-foot-one, lean and muscular, dark-skinned stud named Jean-Christophe Sinclair. He was a newcomer to the Confederation of Canada, hailing from the City of Cap-Haitien in the Republic of Haiti. Jean-Christophe, or J.C. as he liked to be called, was part of a growing number of Haitian immigrants moving to Canada. At the time we met, J.C. was working for a security company while taking night classes at the University of Montreal. He only spoke French and Haitian Creole, while I was fluent in English for the most part because the Province of Quebec has become increasingly anglicised lately. Still, I got back to my French roots because I wanted to understand this delicious stud muffin from the Caribbean.

When I began dating J.C. my parents weren't exactly happy about it. Seriously. My father, Jacques Bonheur, really didn't like black guys. He worked for La Surete Du Quebec, the provincial police force. And he was weary of immigrants from the Caribbean and Africa. Years ago, my father arrested a Black Muslim guy named Farouk who shot and killed his Canadian ex-wife Diane Lefebvre after catching her with her white male lover. The case sent shockwaves around Canada. We weren't used to Muslims then, and we didn't know how male-dominated and violent their culture was. Women really have no rights in countries dominated by Islamic Law. Farouk forgot that he was in Canada and not in his native Senegal when he killed Diane and her lover Michael. He was found guilty of double murder, and sentenced to life in prison. He was killed by a corrections officer while attempting to escape, three years after he began his prison sentence. I doubt anybody in all of Canada mourned this sexist, religiously motivated brute.

Anyhow, this incident rendered many people across Canada weary of immigrants. I assured my father that my boyfriend J.C. was nothing like the barbaric Farouk. For starters, Jean-Christophe is a Christian. He was raised in the Roman Catholic faith and attended College Notre Dame Du Perpetuel Secours, an all-male private Catholic school located in his hometown of Cap-Haitien. I was raised Catholic too, but Jean-Christophe was far more into his faith than I've ever been. He prays three times a day, attends church every Sunday and volunteers for Catholic Charities in his spare time. If anything, I became more involved with Catholicism after meeting Jean-Christophe. This was a guy who grew up with a deep respect for women. His mother, Chantal L'Amour, was one of the first policewomen in the island of Haiti. Also, his father Etienne Sinclair was a stay-at-home dad. How about that?

The funny thing is that my father grew to like Jean-Christophe once he met him. You see, my father is a proud Quebecer who only speaks English when he has to. Jean-Christophe was enamored of all things French and had a lot of disdain for the English. Apparently, he tried to study in America but the United States was somewhat weary of non-White immigrants at the time while Canada was wide open. Jean-Christophe loves soccer, and told me he played all the days of his life back in Haiti. My father is a soccer fanatic. Slowly, the two men who were most important in my life came to like each other. They say that men marry women who remind them of their mothers. I don't know if that's always true but women do marry men who somewhat remind them of their fathers, in character if not looks. Both my father and J.C. absolutely adore me. Also, they're hard-working, God-fearing men of character and few words. The strong, silent type. I guess I chose well.

I remember Thanksgiving 1980, the first of many thanksgivings which J.C. and I would celebrate together. We celebrated it with my father in the town of Trois-Rivieres, deep in the Province of Quebec. During that holiday, my father gave J.C. and I his blessing, in his own way. Dad had gotten injured in Montreal during a robbery and was recovering a bit so he couldn't step outside with me to shovel the snow. He was mightily impressed with Jean-Christophe when my stalwart Haitian stud not only cleared our driveway, but also helped out Alain and Michelle Tremblay, this elderly couple living across the street from dad's old house. Dad and I sat inside, watching Jean-Christophe as he tirelessly worked outside. I initially wanted to step out to shovel because I've never been the kind of dame who lets the men do all the work. Well, Jean-Christophe told me, in his charming Haitian way, that this was men's work. And then he gently but firmly urged me to go back inside and take care of my dad. I pouted, but inside I was smiling.

While we sipped tea and watched J.C. at work, dad told me Jean-Christophe was an okay guy. That's the most positive thing my father has ever said about any guy I've ever dated. I smiled, and tenderly kissed my father on the cheek. When Jean-Christophe came back inside, I gave him a big hug. He seemed puzzled, but didn't mind. He's a guy, after all. The three of us sat in the living room, watching the movie Manhattan, starring Woody Allen and Diane Keaton. I felt safe and happy with the two men who mattered the most to me. My father, and my future husband. Jean-Christophe and I remained together far longer than anyone expected. When I graduated from Concordia University with my bachelor's degree in business administration in 1984, Jean-Christophe and my dad were there to congratulate me and throw me a party. Jean-Christophe graduated with his Accounting degree from the University of Montreal, and later went on to earn his Master's degree in business from McGill University. He was hired by the Bank of Montreal in 1985 and still works there now.

Jean-Christophe and I got married in 1986. I found out I was pregnant shortly after our wedding day. Our first son, Jacques Sinclair ( thus named in honor of my father) was born on November 9, 1987. He was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. Light brown in skin tone, with curly hair and green eyes. He was followed by a daughter, Christine Sinclair, born on February 5, 1989. Our last, Jean-Luc Sinclair, was born on April 1, 1990. J.C. and I live in Montreal still. My husband is Vice President of Marketing at the Bank of Montreal. Our sons and daughter are doing good. They're all at McGill University, which is their father and grandfather's alma mater. Chips off the old block, eh? As for my father, Jacques Bonheur, he is still with us. He married a twenty-year-old Chinese immigrant named Amelia Chang in 1988. Surprising all of us, he sired twin daughters with her, my half-sisters Nicole and Marguerite Bonheur. Dad retired from the police force in 1990, after a career spanning almost five decades. He lives in Gatineau with his wife and family.

This is the story of my life, ladies and gentlemen. A proud French-Canadian woman, the daughter of a Quebec policeman, happily married to a tall, handsome and successful Haitian immigrant banker. Proud mother of three. Oh, and I recently became a grandmother. My son Jacques Sinclair is in Law School at McGill University and apparently, he got his Irish-born former professor, forty-year-old Judith McCullough, pregnant. This he kept from all of us until she delivered a healthy lad, Max Sinclair, at Montreal General Hospital. I don't know whether to hug my son or smack him. So I did both, for he notified us of the birth three days after it happened. I'm very disappointed in how my brilliant son has lived his life. He's a womanizer and a drinker, with the brains of an Einstein. Oh, well. The only thing my Jean-Christophe and I can do is be there for all of our offspring in their time of need. Parenting is a job which never ends. And you know what? I wouldn't have it any other way. Now if you'll excuse me, I've got to shop for my grandson!