Blackhumouristpress's Blog

October 2, 2010

Mixed Marriage

Filed under: Uncategorized — blackhumouristpress @ 2:05 am
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Kevin met Keisha after a hockey game.  It seems unlikely given that Keisha really had an almost disdain for the sport of ice hockey.  Keisha’s boyfriend at the time was the goalie on the opposing team.  Kevin noticed the pretty African-American woman in the stands and made it a point of finding out where the opposing team was going to drink that night.  It was at the bar of a Red Lobster that Kevin met Keisha.  Kevin paid the waiter twenty dollars to check her identification and then give Kevin all the information.  Keisha got up to use the washroom at the Red Lobster and it was in the galley that Kevin intercepted Keisha and professed his undying love for her.

            It could have been Kevin’s boldness that really attracted Keisha to him since Kevin grabbed Keisha and began kissing her in nearly clear view of where her boyfriend was sitting.  That move was the beginning of a love and life everlasting.  The profession of love that needed to be legally bound by a document whereby Kevin and Keisha would belong to one another was where it all headed from that moment on.  It all culminated in marriage at a Baptist Church with a Catholic priest also presiding.  It was a grand affair to see the friends and family of Kevin get together and break bread with the family and friends of Keisha.  Black people trying to dance to rock from the 1980’s and white people just trying to dance.  The whites had to admit that Keisha was stunning in her white gown and the blacks had decided that Kevin looked okay for a pasty dude that really needed to take in a bit more Vitamin D via the sun.

            Time went on and is often the case, Kevin and Keisha got together and eventually had a child.  They both were excited to be parents and really loved their young daughter with all their being.  Kendra was born with curly light brown hair, light skin and blue eyes.  There was a twenty five percent chance that Kendra would come out light skinned and she did.  That in itself meant nothing to either parent other than the child looked more white than black to most but occasionally she looked more black than white to others.  Kevin joked that Kendra was a white zebra with black stripes and everyone always chuckled at the comment.  It was sort of cute to all but Keisha.

            Now for Keisha’s thirty fifth birthday, Kevin had decided that he and his wife would take a grand vacation and travel to South Africa.  A land where white people once ruled over black people and now black people ruled over all.  As the time drew closer, Keisha began to think about the tremendous amount of miles and even more kilometers it would take by airplane to get to Johannesburg and the possibility of the airplane crashing into the sea and then their young daughter would become ward of the state.  It suddenly became imperative that legally custody be granted to one of their friends in the event of their death.  The only issue was who it was going to be.

            “Benita is the sister I never had.  I would do anything for Benita and she would do anything for me.  She is Kendra’s godmother and she loves Kendra as her own.  Benita did a great job with her own children and knows that she would do a fabulous job with Kendra if something were to happen to us.  I would like to legally make Benita Kendra’s legal guardian before we go…  She is the right choice; she is a loving, educated black woman.”

            Kevin happened to be working on his spoken word/poetry reading.  He was matching up a bible verse from the Gideon Bible that he stole from a motel in Fargo, North Dakota to some rhythms that he came up with on his $150.00 Casio that he bought in at a pawn shop under the elevated train on the north side of Chicago.  It was sort of a Bossa Nova beat underneath poetry.  Kevin frequented a coffee house on the north side of Chicago with a clear view of Lake Michigan.  On Tuesday nights, random people would congregate to read indirect words about being indirect.  Kevin chose the Gideon’sBible.  A smooth jazzy beat looped over and over as Kevin softly read Deuteronomy 4: 32.

            “Ask about the former days, long before your time, form the day God man on earth; ask from one end of the heavens to the other…”

            Keisha interrupted.  Kevin blinked hard and turned off the Casio.  He could no longer concentrate.

            “Why the bible, baby?  Why don’t you write a poem about something on your mind and rattle that off at the poetry readings?  Asked Keisha.

            “Because the bible moves me.  That’s why.  Why is black so important to you?”  Asked Kevin.

            Keisha was taken aback by the question.  Kevin was aggravated by being interrupted and by Betty’s qualification of being a suitable surrogate parent because she was black.

            “What if I said I wanted to have my brother Peter to be a surrogate in the event of our death?”  Said Kevin.

            “You want you’re under achieving brother to raise our child?  The only white landscaper on the north shore?  Maybe he could put her in a junior college and teach her how to tell the difference between grass and weeds,” said Keisha.

            “Oh and your friend Betty, the one you call your sister, the one you tell our daughter that she is our aunt, the one who chose some man whore to be her husband…  You want her to hook up with some slick bastard who is going to be lining up our daughter when she hits puberty?  Great idea.  Benita chooses a worthless man before and so he will be the next one but meanwhile our daughter winds up being the Korean chick that Woody Allen wound up marrying that was his foster child.  No way.  I’m not game for that.”

            Keisha became indignant at the implication that all black men were womanizers and capable of indiscretions with young girls who may or may not be relations.

            “So all black men will rape our daughter, huh?  Is that what you’re saying?  Its cool to sleep and marry a black woman but still keep your eye on the brother, right?”

            “You get on a goddamn elevator; you’re the first one to hold your purse against your body as soon as some dude with braids, sagging pants and a long white t-shirt comes slooping up towards us.  I already know he views you as an Uncle Tom and a sell out because you stand there staring at the floor display, clutching my hand.  I didn’t make the black man a villain, they made themselves one.  I’m just here to give each individual a fair shake.  When it comes to my daughter and I’m already dead, I have to say that the screening process left up to your friend Betty, scares the hell out of me.  Her judgment sucks in my opinion.  A warm body and a large cock is all that she really needs, right?”

            “Your brother is an under achieving bust out.  He’d be happy watching television all day, drinking a six pack, asking your mom if the mail came so he could see if maybe some credit card company sent him or your mother’s dog a check in the mail.  Loser is what should be tattooed on his forehead and it saddens me to think that you would want your daughter to possibly be raised by someone that has zero ambition that is content watching NHL games in your mother’s basement with other bust outs who live with their mothers.  Why is this?  Because he is white?  You can be a worthless human being as long as you are white?  Is that the case?”

            Two days passed and neither Keisha nor Kevin would talk to one another.  The two had angered each other and dredged up latent racism that dwelled deep within both of them.  It was Kevin that thought long and hard about a compromise that would keep their South African vacation from being a case study in apartheid; suggest the lesbian Asian friend to be the surrogate mother and custodial parent in the event of death.  Keisha was surprised by the suggestion but listened to her husband without interruption.

            “I thought about this whole thing and it is really all pretty silly.  I know that Benita would be a good parent to our daughter despite whatever philandering waste of space that she might hook up with and although my brother is a bit arrested in his development, rest assured he would care for and love our daughter more than if it were his own.  I have a solution.  Your good friend Joyce from Wisconsin would be a great alternative.  Although I hope our daughter does not turn out lesbian, I know that Joyce would take good care of Kendra and being sort of butch, she would try to instill in her the necessity to be proficient at sports.  Hopefully our daughter would never be a Green Bay Packer fan but if it happens… Just like being a lesbo, I won’t be around to witness it…  What do you think?”  Asked Kevin.

            Keisha thought about the whole issue and the potential for ruining their own two week dream vacation to Africa and decided that an Asian lesbian was a great compromise.  Joyce cried upon being asked to be a parent in the event of their death.  Kevin, Keisha and Joyce toasted the agreement.  Disaster was averted.

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