Last time we explored the female dynamic and how she relates to black men. Now we must explore the reverse. When I was in South Carolina on assignment, I met a young black man who worked in the transportation department. He was built rather slim and reminded me of Spike Lee. When he found out I loved Otis Redding, we become fast friends. One night whilst working the graveyard shift, he came down to drop off a patient who needed to use the restroom immediately. While I waited for her to be done, he began to open up to me.
His eyes roamed my face, stopping briefly on my lips, then continued to look at me with such intensity, I began to feel uneasy. Then he spoke.
“You know…you’re light-skinned enough and all but black women just don’t do it for me.”
I looked at him quizzically. I knew to be insulted by his callous remark but curiosity won over. I never had a man, any man, especially a black one, tell me that my colouring offended him. Plus, I was taken and he knew this. I wondered why he felt the need to tell me this. So I asked, ” Ok…ummm…first, you know I’m off the market, right?”
“Yeah…it’s just that I’m not into black girls.”
I was stunned. I’ve never had a black man tell me this to my face.
“Why? What’s wrong with us?” Now the insult had sunk in.
“No offense or nuthin’ but black women are just too much work for me.” He said this matter-of-factly. Self-assuredly. Like black women are a monolithic group like on Maury.
I felt like I’d been punched in the gut. Too much work? How? Since when is a woman “work”? He went on to tell me that black women are argumentative and stubborn. They never do as they are told and are too demanding sexually. White women are happy just to have a man and will do anything to hang on to him. In the bedroom, he’s in charge. And she never objects. For the first time in my life, I. Was. Speechless.
In a daze, never noticed my patient was finished in the bathroom and was ready for her pre-surgical procedure. This man never showed shame or remorse for his callous comment of the Original Woman. He said this so casually, I wondered where this misconception came from. Then my friend told me about this:
It seems that black women have been at center of scorn, racial animus, envy, buffoonery, abuse, rejection, rape and degradation from day one. We’ve been told not just by white society that we are worthless, but by our own men who would rather be with any other race other than us. Why?
1. Since Miss Becky lured Willie from the corn fields into her bedroom, the game has been played and over-played ad nauseum:
3. Black women are only out for a black man’s money.
4. Black women will not produce pretty spawn with “good hair” and pleasing features.
5. Black women are loud, argumentative, stubborn, out for revenge and petty.
6. You cannot climb into high society with a black woman, especially if she’s dark skinned.
7. Internalized racism and societal brainwashing clouds the judgment of black men.
8. Dark-skinned women are out of the question but “high-yellow” types are passable:
9. Black women are underserving of love and affection so whatever happens to them is justified:
11. Latina women are a pleasing “buffer” to appease the black man’s ego while giving him a “distant sense of Africa”:
12. If all else fails, an Asian woman will provide you with an utmost sense of masculinity:
Now, now….before y’all get riled up, I know darn well that this is but a myth. In fact, the majority of black men would rather befriend, date, marry and spawn with black women. But…for every black man that “appears” to hate his woman, he gives ALL black men a bad name. And for some reason, the stereotype sticks.
Since this post will probably be just as heated as Female Vs. Male Part 1, all I ask for is mature responses.
“If I could marry a celebrity, I’d marry…”
I’ll go first. I’d marry Idris Elba. Yummy!
If Idris is busy, I’ll take him:
But…I’ll probaby have an illicit, sleazy, dirty affair with him:
And him…(on weekends when my husband is out of town and the kids are at grandma’s):
ok…I’ll stop now…
He beckons me with his flesh, his voice, his sensuality
He taunts me with words that burn me alive, leaving me breathless…my brain ravaged
He tortures me with his poetry, gut-wrenching and soulful, taking me to dizzying heights of sadness and deep contemplation
He pains me with his torture…making it my own
I think him, see him, feel him, taste him, touch him, smell him, breathe him
I want more…gorging myself on his essence
His manliness fulfills me
His confidence thrills me
His raw sensuality excites me like no other
His skin a smooth velvet casing born of God’s divine wish
His hair a reminder of our people…proud and fierce
He is my mysterious dreadlocked man
Any others you’d like to add?