Love Beyond Black And White

If somebody told me a year ago that this would happen, I would have laughed at them so hard, seriously. Here I am. Lying in bed next to my girlfriend Michelle Tremblay. Looking into her icy blue eyes, I smile. I run my hand through her short, spiky blonde hair and caress her smooth alabaster skin. The six-foot-tall Amazonian beauty stretched happily next to me and blew me a kiss. She was a bit tired. Passionate lovemaking will do that to you. Gently I take her hand in mine and kiss it. Michelle smiles at me. This French-Canadian beauty from the City of Montreal, Quebec, saved me from my worst self, folks. Hard to believe that twenty four hours ago, I was in the depths of despair.

There comes a time in every man's life that he has to take a look at himself and do a clear and unbiased evaluation. Seventy two hours ago I graduated from Carleton University in Ottawa, Ontario, with a Master's degree in business administration. I was one of the top students in the Sprott School of Business at Carleton University. Everybody was congratulating me, the first Black man to be acknowledged as a top scholar at a business school in the region of Ontario, Canada. I stood there, smiling and waving at former classmates and professors. I smiled at all of them, thankful that they couldn't see me for what I was. A fraud. In the eyes of the world, I'm a six-foot-two, bulky young Black man with roughly handsome features and a keen mind. I've authored and successfully published several books of Afro-centric romance, and they've been released in bookstores across America, Canada and the United Kingdom. Not bad for a twenty-five-year-old Black guy originally from Cap-Haitien, Haiti, huh?

So why did I feel so terribly alone on graduation day? I don't know. Could it be because I realize how empty my life feels? I write about Afro-centric romance. Black men and Black women loving each other. My best-seller, The Return Of The Nubian Prince, has sold a million copies in its first two months in North America. The story of a young Black military man's search for his long-lost twin brother, and their eventual reunion with their father, a Harvard University professor who had no idea of their existence. Oh, and along the way the stalwart military hero falls in love with the gorgeous Black female detective whom he enlisted to help him in his genealogical journey. For some reason, Black female readers across America and Canada really liked that book. And I'm thankful for that because they made me a household name. I write about Black Love, but I'm lousy at relationships with Black women. As much as I love the sisters, most of them aren't into me. I'm a Black man afflicted with something Black men seem naturally immune to. I have Nice Guy Syndrome. I'm polite and friendly to people. I respect women. I'm not cocky or brash or whatever. Side effect of having being raised by my old-fashioned grandmother Clothilda D'Avignon while my parents were busy working. Many would say that I came from a good household. My father, Louis D'Avignon is a captain in the Canadian Armed Forces. My mother Wendy Lafleur D'Avignon is a sergeant with the Royal Canadian Mounted Police. Yeah, I come from a rather unique household. Isn't that peachy?

I spent six years at Carleton University in Ottawa, Ontario. During that time, I tried my best to be a Good Black Man. I grew up hearing about Black men who were irresponsible, criminally inclined, unmotivated or downright lazy. I heard a lot of negative stereotypes about Black men who mistreated women, especially Black women. A lot of that talk came from my grandmother Clothilda D'Avignon. You see, my grandmother used to get beat by my long-dead grandfather Jean-Francois D'Avignon. They lived in Cap-Haitien, Haiti, and they're really old-fashioned down there in that husband and wife disputes are thought to be private matters which cops don't get involved in until somebody is dead. My grandmother's rants about Black men's shortcomings forever altered my personality. I took her words to heart and strove to be the best man I could be. In high school, while other brothers played sports and chased the ladies, I focused on the books. How many Black guys will ever tell you they were President of the Business Education And Science Club in High School? Most of the Black guys you meet will tell you about their athletic prowess and the ladies they were banging back in the day. And we all know how most of these brothers turn out.

When I enrolled at Carleton University in 2006, I was determined to succeed. I quickly proved myself a powerhouse in academia. The faculty weren't used to Black male academic superstars so they found me puzzling. I continued to ace everything I tried. Unfortunately, my social life suffered. There were plenty of lovely young Black women at fine schools like Carleton University and the University of Ottawa. I met several, and went out with them and along the way, I left them cold or they left me cold or something went wrong. You see, I quickly discovered that to most young Black women, I was too different. I'm not a bragger but I was too intellectual. Many told me they found me emotionally cold. I'm not the most emotionally expressive person on the planet but I'm always polite and friendly to everyone. I respected and loved the Black women of the world. Part of me still does, and always will. My mother is a Black lady. My grandmother is a Black lady. See my point?

You have no idea what it was like to be me in those days. I kept hearing that Black women were complaining about a shortage of good Black men. Supposedly, educated, law-abiding and God-fearing Black men who cherished Black women were in short supply. Yet here I was. A tall, decent-looking brother who definitely met the criterion. Yet time after time I saw fine-looking sisters who only went out with those Black guys with the gold teeth, the pierced tongues and the low-hanging pants. Either that or they only went out with preppy white guys. Or thuggish white guys, whatever. I found myself frustrated and filled with disbelief at this state of the affairs. Suddenly I understood why so many young Black men at Carleton University were walking around with white women. Black women did not want us. They only wanted Black thugs or white guys, not decent Black men.

What's a brother to do? I thought about the interracial dating. It wasn't easy for me. I'm mainly attracted to Black women. My soul mate as I always envisioned her was a Black woman. I didn't think a white lady could relate to what I went through as a Black man living in North America. Getting angry looks from white guys when I worked as an intern in a certain corporation in downtown Ottawa. They felt threatened by an educated Black man in a sharp suit, apparently. The way clerks react to me as a Black man when I'm shopping. Oh, yeah. I didn't think a white lady could relate to that. So to me, dating a white woman was out of the question. Besides, several times white women accused Black men of sexual assault at Carleton University and it made the news. White women could get a brother in trouble very easily. I didn't need that drama. Yet I was surrounded by a lot of Black ladies who made a point to show off their white boyfriends to every Black man they ran into as if white men are some type of trophy. I believed in Black Love but Black women did not want me. I thought a white woman could never understand me or relate to what I go through so where did that leave me? Alone, apparently. I poured all my energy into school and it actually paid off. I was that Black guy practically living inside the Carleton University library, always doing homework. Either that or I was writing those poignant Black love stories which would eventually make me a household name as a Black author in North America and the United Kingdom.

Time passed. I was dedicated to my schoolwork, my writing and my church. Those were the things I focused on. In the end, I guess it paid off. One of my professors, an African-American guy from Detroit, Michigan, who was teaching business management for a semester at Carleton, actually got one of my novellas when I turned it in along with an assignment by mistake. The professor really liked the novella, and told me I should publish. He hooked me up with an American publisher who loved my work, and the rest as they say was history. All of a sudden, my books were everywhere. Poignant stories of educated, hard-working Black men traveling all over the world, having heroic adventures while remaining steadfast in their love of Black women. I ended up on Oprah's network and the mega diva interviewed me herself. All of a sudden, I was Mr. Black Love everywhere I went. The irony was not lost on me. The Black man whom Black women ignored for YEARS was the guy everybody in the Black community couldn't stop talking about. All of a sudden my picture was on Essence, Ebony and Black Enterprise magazine. Wow.

During that time, I tried not to let it get to my head. I stayed focused on school and work. I wisely saved all of my money and got myself a good lawyer. I made sound investments. All of a sudden, Black women who did not know I exist were walking up to me. I couldn't believe it. I wasn't any taller. My dick wasn't any bigger. My facial features weren't any handsomer. However, I was suddenly a high-profile Black man with two point six million U.S. dollars spread over various bank accounts. For a time, I thought some of these Black ladies who were suddenly approaching me might like me for me. However, I knew this wasn't the case. I'm still the same nerdy Black guy who practically did their homework for them in high school and university out of kindness. The Black guy who always gives up his seat for the ladies on the bus regardless of color. The brother who respects the sisters. The one who was the shoulder they cried on when their thuggish Black boyfriends dumped them for fat white chicks or their preppy white boyfriends ditched them for an Asian broad. I was the big and tall young Black man who managed the impossible feat of being invisible. Money or not, MBA or not, I was still that same guy. How I felt inside hasn't changed. I was still lonely, and though I still believed in Black Love at that point, I was unwilling to forget the past.

I can still hear my grandmother Clothilda lecturing me. How she despised high-profile Black men like Tiger Woods, Wesley Snipes, Quincy Jones or Taye Diggs for their relationships with white women. And how she praised high-profile Black women like Grace Hightower, Halle Berry and many others for their relationships with white men. What a world I lived in! I prayed to God to send me someone. My prayer was actually a challenge for God because I didn't think He could bring me happiness. I honestly didn't believe womankind could produce the woman who could make me happy. Black women simply did not care for law-abiding, educated, hard-working and God-fearing Black men who respect Black women. It's all about the Black thugs and the preppy white men for them. If you're a 'good' Black man....keep walking. They'll go on pretending you don't exist. Yeah, those were the thoughts in my head as I walked home one night...

I was so lost in thought that I didn't pay attention to traffic and a car barreled toward me. I stood there, like a deer in headlights. I honestly thought the end of my pathetic life was on its way. A life void of happiness in spite of academic, social and financial success. A life void of meaning in spite of the good things I did. I volunteered to help the Black community. I personally helped my brothers and sisters every chance I got. I always saw all Black folks as part of the same family. And I always respected and practically revered the Black woman. Let the grim reaper claim this 'good' Black man and put order back into a chaotic universe...I stood there, and waited for death. And then...something happened. Someone knocked me out of the way. It was Michelle Tremblay. A young woman who was visiting Ontario from her native Quebec. She saved my life that night. On the one night when I wanted to die. No, I wasn't suicidal. I did not want to get hit by that car. However, I'd be lying if I said I minded dying on that particular night. Yet it was that same night that I began to live.

I recall being unable to speak, and since I was in shock/borderline catatonic, Michelle took me to the hospital. That's how we met. That night, a lot of things changed for me. Nothing like a brush with death to make a man examine his life. I decided to stop whining and take what life threw at me. I decided to make the most of what I had. A lot of people, both men and women, Black or white, didn't have what I had. I decided to thank God for His blessings. And I became friends with Michelle Tremblay. Ah, Michelle. The lovely French-Canadian woman who saved my life. She was quite special. A superstar at the Law School of McGill University in the City of Montreal, Quebec. The daughter of Michael Tremblay, the multi-millionaire owner of Tremblay Enterprises. We started hanging out regularly as friends. And one day, the impossible happened. A woman I had fallen in love with actually loved me back. Six months after we met, Michelle and I began dating. A year later, we got engaged. My life has taken many strange turns but I now realize that every step you take eventually leads you to the right destination. Be open-minded about life and love. Stop complaining and embrace your destiny. That's my best advice to anyone who has a heart.