Interracial Love Is Real Love

Man, I have been feeling so depressed lately. My sexy Jamaican girlfriend Tasha Thomas dumped me for another guy. And I became the laughingstock of the University of Ottawa campus. When you're a young Black man of Haitian descent at a White school in Canada, it really sucks. My name is Arthur Saint Pierre. And these days, my life really sucks. I kind of hate myself right now. What's wrong with me? why can't I find a woman to love me? For most of my life, the lovely Black women I found myself attracted to have walked all over me. Why is that?

When I went home to my mother and sisters and told them that Tasha dumped me, they told me that I must have done something to deserve it. I forgot to tell you that my mother, Anne Saint Pierre, really hates men ever since my father Antoine ran off with a French Canadian woman he met in the City of Montreal. My mother's hatred for men has spread to my sisters, Jennifer and Anita. They're both students at Algonquin College and are bona-fide heartbreakers and man-haters. This is the kind of environment I have to live in. I'm surrounded by Black women who hate Black men. Is it any wonder that I can't find lasting love with a Black gal?

I have taken a serious look at myself these days. I stand six feet two inches tall and weigh two hundred and thirty pounds. I'm not a bad-looking guy. And I'm one of the brightest students at the Faculty of Engineering at the University of Ottawa. In a classroom full of White guys, White chicks and Asians, I hold my own. Hell, I outperform the best of them half the time. I get my brains from my father, who graduated from the University of Manitoba and used to teach business at La Cite Collegiale before he left Ottawa forever. My mother dropped out of Carleton University and never finished her degree. She's always bashing my dad but never acknowledges his accomplishments...or mine, for that matter.

Yeah, I was living in a toxic environment. I think that's the root of all my problems with women. That's my set pattern. I choose the meanest and most evil Black woman out there, and I worship her. And I act surprised when she treats me like dirt. That's why my relationship with Tasha Thomas didn't work. She was toxic and I stayed with her because she is toxic. Not in spite of that fact. Am I a genius or what? Man, sometimes I amaze myself. After dumping me for this South African guy, Tasha went around spreading nasty rumours about me. And all the chicks on campus, especially the Black women, looked at me with scorn. I had become a virtual social pariah during my third year at the University of Ottawa. Guys and gals alike mocked me and teased me. Isn't that awesome?

Yeah, I was depressed. I had no friends. My family was no help. And to be honest I couldn't blame all of my problems on Tasha Thomas. I have this co-dependency problem which I must get over. To that end, I went to this counsellor assigned to me by the school, Dr. Jocelyn Rock. I guess when I had a nervous breakdown in the campus library and threatened to kill myself, it made some folks nervous. Thus, I found myself mandated to be in Dr. Jocelyn Rock's office. I didn't want to be there but the school told me that if I didn't attend at least three sessions, I'd be kicked out of my program. Well, that got me to shut up and do as I was told. I didn't want to endanger my future. I want to be an Engineer so bad I can basically taste it.

And that's why I ended up in Dr. Jocelyn Rock's office. And the good doctor wasn't what I expected. She was tall, for one thing. Easily over five-foot-eleven. And she was smoking hot. A tall, blonde-haired and green-eyed, curvy White woman in her late thirties. And she looked at me impassively while we talked. I must say that she looked really good in her Black silk shirt, Black silk pants and comfortable-looking Black leather boots. I found the doctor's obvious hotness kind of distracting. I didn't let on, though. My reaction to the doctor's proximity kind of shocked me to tell you the truth.

Folks, I want to be really clear about this. Seriously. I am not one of those brothers who chase White women. I am not into White chicks. I am not even curious about White women. I am a good Black man who loves his Black women. The Black goddess is my standard of beauty. For most of my life, I've only been attracted to Black ladies. My dorm room wall is littered with sexy pictures of Black female celebrities. Wendy Williams. Serena Williams. Vivica Fox. Lisa-Raye McCoy. Venus Williams. Janet Jackson. Jill Scott. Lisa Leslie. Queen Latifah. And many more. Yeah, I love the Black woman. It's too bad Black women seem incapable of loving Black men these days. Especially if you're a Black man who happens to be decent. They love the gangsters, the rappers and the ball players. They love the thugs and the hustlers. But they don't have any love for the hard-working, educated brothers like myself. That is such a shame. A damn shame, that's for sure.

I told all this to Dr. Jocelyn Rock. The beautiful White woman looked at me impassively as I continued my emotional spiel. I told her about my family's divorce, which took place shortly after I graduated from Saint Laurent Catholic Academy. My parents had been having problems but all couples had problems. They didn't necessarily break up. I was really surprised when I came home one day and found my mother burning some of my father's clothes. I tried to stop her but she smacked the living daylights out of me. Hot damn. Even the memory of it makes me cringe. My mother could be a very violent person sometimes. Yeah, my father dumped my mother for a younger White woman he met in Quebec. He later divorced Mom and married the Quebecer.

That's where my mother's hatred for Black men came from. Her amazing hatred for Black guys spread to my sisters. I basically grew up in a house where I felt hated simply for being Black and male. I looked exactly like my father. That didn't make things easier for my depressed and chronically angry mother, or myself for that matter. My life had been a nightmare since my parents divorce. My home life had basically become Hell. Welcome to the life of a young Black man of Haitian descent living in Ottawa, folks. Man, telling that story to a total stranger felt weird. In a weird way, I felt relieved. I looked at Dr. Jocelyn Rock and saw something in her eyes which I hadn't seen before. Compassion.

At the end of the session, the doctor and I shook hands. Then she did something very strange. She hugged me and told me that I was a decent guy who did nothing wrong. I was surprised, to say the least. Dr. Jocelyn told me she would sign the papers for the school so I could go back to class. And she also told me that I was welcome to her office any time I had a problem. She was never too busy to take care of people whom she considered worthwhile. I smiled and thanked her. Then I went home. Wow. What a day! And you thought you had it rough!

Thus began a profound change in my life. I decided to start a new page. I focused on school and basically ignored the women on campus. Especially the young Black women. They're so quick and vicious when mocking a Black man. Wow. I wasn't interested in the White chicks either. I always found them fake. They change like the weather. Of course, the same could be said of most women. The only woman I could trust was...Dr. Jocelyn? How weird is that? I can't trust my mother. I can't trust my sisters. Why? They hate Black men with a fiery passion. Including me, their own flesh and blood. The chicks on campus, Black or White, were all flakes. That's the truth about most young women at the University of Ottawa. I swear we've got the bottom of the barrel when it comes to quality people in the City of Ottawa.

I continued to excel in my Engineering classes. And I went to Dr. Jocelyn's office whenever I felt like talking to someone trustworthy. I found myself admiring and respecting the good doctor. I've always respected smart women with strong minds. It felt weird but so relieving to talk to her. Man, this is weird. I'm a young Black man living in the bigoted City of Ottawa, dealing with angry Black women and racist White folks left and right. And the only person I feel safe talking to about my issues is a White woman who is older than me. Is life weird or what?

During one of our sessions, the good doctor shared certain things with me. Unexpected things. She told me that she was an outcast from her family. They disowned her when she decided to marry Jonas Adewale, a Nigerian immigrant whom she had fallen in love with. I was stunned. Dr. Jocelyn had a sad look on her face as she told me the tale. Her father was really mad when she told him she fell in love with a Black man. Her mother wasn't fond of Black people either. Dr. Jocelyn came from a wealthy English family whose roots in Canada went back to its foundation. To say they were xenophobic would be putting it mildly. The doctor described herself as a fool for love who defied her family and married the man she loved. Later, she found out he only married her to get his residency papers from the Government of Canada. As soon as he got his papers, he divorced her and married a Nigerian lady whom he was secretly banging while married to her. Dr. Jocelyn found herself the laughingstock of her family and friends. Now she was alone in the world.

I looked at Dr. Jocelyn Rock, amazed at what she had told me. This tall, strong woman who was the dispenser of advice to naive little old me suddenly looked very vulnerable. Wordlessly I went to her and hugged her. I looked into her eyes and told her that Adewale was a scumbag. He wasn't worthy of a strong and intelligent woman like her. With tear-stained eyes, the doctor thanked me. I nodded. My father raised me to be a gentleman. I would never allow any man to disrespect a lady. Regardless of the color of the people involved, a real man was supposed to respect the female of the species. Dr. Jocelyn smiled sadly and told me that she wished she had met someone like me instead of Adewale all those years ago. I grinned and told her I wished I had met her instead of Tasha Thomas three years ago. We stared at each other in silence, stunned by the emotional weight of what we had shared with each other. I'm no expert on shrink/patient stuff but we had definitely crossed a line or two.

Well, we crossed yet another line. You see, Dr. Jocelyn Rock kissed me. And I kissed her back. Yep, you read right. I had definitely crossed the line. I had kissed a White woman. Not any White woman. My psychiatrist. Assigned to me by the University of Ottawa. What have I done? Dr. Jocelyn told me that she liked me. And she told me not to be afraid. To be honest, I was scared. This was all new to me. Well, this was new to her too. Later, we discussed why. As a young Black man living in North America, I was bombarded with stories of Black men who got in trouble due to relations with White women. Tiger Woods. Kobe Bryant. Marcus Dixon. Michael Strahan. Michael Jordan. And the list goes on. I really shouldn't be kissing this White lady in her office. Kind of a risky thing for a young Black man to do. Yet I did it anyway.

Jocelyn Rock could be penalized by the Canadian Psychiatric Association for crossing the line with a patient. And she could lose her licence. Not to mention her colleagues at the University of Ottawa would lose all respect for her. Even in these liberal circles, White women who had relations with younger Black men were frowned upon or whispered about maliciously. Jocelyn laughed and told me about how racist some of her ex-friends and relatives were. When they found out she had a preference for Black guys in the dating game, they told her they were worried about her safety. All people, both Black and White, are ninety nine percent more likely to be killed by someone from their demographic. Simple scientific fact. Black folks kill more Blacks. White folks kill more Whites. That's how Criminologists see it. Jocelyn found their bigotry ridiculous and didn't associate with them anymore.

Well, that's how it all began. I embarked on a relationship with Jocelyn Rock. I'm in love with her and she's in love with me. We walk around in public, holding hands and kissing. Yep, we're in love. And we don't care who knows it. When my mother and sisters found out I was dating a White woman, they called me a sell-out, a race traitor and a weirdo. I get funny looks from White folks, especially older White guys, when I enter a restaurant with Jocelyn on my arm. I also get angry looks from Black women. I've been called a sell-out and a White pussy chaser by Black women who didn't even know me.

The funny thing is that none of these Black women would ever look at me if I was by myself. That's the truth about Black women being mad at interracial couples where the man is Black and the woman is White. Oh, well. I really don't care. I've never dated outside my race before. I've always dated Black women. Yet I've never had a Black woman show me love, affection, respect or appreciation like Jocelyn does. And she's not after me for my money. I'm a University student for crying out loud. I'm not rich. She's the one with the Ph.D. and the mansion along with the fancy car. I love her for her. For rescuing me when I felt like I was nothing. For saving me when I was basically suicidal. I asked her to marry me and she said yes. We're getting married this June, after my graduation ceremony. That's right. I'm getting my Engineering degree from the University of Ottawa. A funny thing happened. My father and I reconnected. Turns out he's about to become a daddy again with the Quebec lady he married. Wow. Dad wasn't surprised to see me with Jocelyn, with whom he gets along great. Pops said certain things are genetic. I guess he might be right. Folks, at the end of the day, love is love. Get over the color thing. Peace.