Why Not Noah?

I was somewhere in my early twenties and after weeks of mysteriously vanishing from social events and far too many lame excuses to bail on fun activities, I finally decided to come clean — I was dating someone new. By now we’d known each other long enough and I'd finally come to the conclusion that this guy was ready to meet my core group of friends — maybe not my family, but certainly my close compadres.

Now everyone knows introducing a new fling to friends is never easy, no matter how old you are. There’s the immediate barrage of questions, the unnerving fear they won’t approve or worse, they’ll manage to spill the one story you had every intention of never telling. And I will openly admit that I have been the fearless leader of such peanut galleries but this isn’t about that.

Having witnessed a few less than stellar introductions, I was always secretly terrified of being on the receiving end; hence, the reason I rarely brought potential suitors to the firing squad. The opinions of my close friends have always held a heavy weight and my friends have always been a bunch of bloodthirsty assassins with killer instincts. When they smell trouble, I usually listen because most of the time they’re right. Seriously though, listening to them more often might have saved me from a few bad relationships and a hearty handful of nightmare dates.

Either way, when game night rolled around and it was time to throw my new beau to the wolves, I prepared myself mentally, filled him in on all the must-know details, approached my friend's apartment and hand-in-hand we rang the doorbell — all the while feeling as though I would vomit. By the end of the night, despite all their secret whispers of criticism (and let’s be honest, looking back he really was a complete loser) only one comment really stuck with me …

“I’m surprised he’s white. Will your family be okay with that?”

Will my family be okay with what … me dating a white guy?! Seriously? I was stunned. In the moment, I didn’t have a great comeback or even a full sentence. I distinctly remember sort of laughing and half mumbling something before awkwardly excusing myself so I could use the restroom slash get the hell outta there.

It was 2011, was this still a legitimate question?

My date never heard the comment, and I’m glad I never mentioned it. I can only imagine how I might have felt if the roles were reversed and I heard something so naive when surrounded by his tight-knit clan of friends. Not to mention, how I might have felt if he’d mustered the same lame response I did back then. #SMH

Now before that night, there’s a good chance I’d never noticed or blatantly ignored similar comments since they were never really directed my way specifically. Like when my pretty, blonde-haired, blue-eyed friend constantly mentioned her lack of attraction to guys of ethnicity or how she, “just didn’t know what her parents would do if she brought home a black guy.” I usually just ignored it. And to be perfectly honest, I know I’ve been guilty of saying something equally atrocious to a friend during a night of drunken buffoonery. If I remember correctly, I think I said something along the lines of, “it’s about time you finally tried to date someone of your own kind. Now you will finally bring honor to your family” to an Asian friend of mine. Yikes. Definitely not my proudest moment. Even typing it back makes me cringe and think I should probably call and apologize for that one.

As someone who has predominately found themselves in interracial relationships, I actively support the idea. I constantly root for the long-term success of interracial couples in the public eye — there they are, happy for everyone to see. Take that, haters! Even still, I fear that despite the changes in generations and the abundance of these “mixed” couples floating around, interracial love will always hold a small stigma with some.

So what does it feel like to be in an interracial relationship? Well … I can’t necessarily speak for everyone, but for me, there’s a moment near the beginning when I constantly worry that my date and I will be judged — that those around us will not approve of our mutual twitterpation. And if you’ve seen the film, Get Out, there’s almost always that nerve wracking feeling before meeting their family where you think, “I really hope they know I’m black and this isn’t some weird surprise.” Sure, after a while, it usually subsides, but every now and then — especially since moving to the Caucasian covered land of Minnesota — I still feel uneasy. It’s not Minnesota’s fault for being predominately Caucasian, but coming from Arizona and Colorado, there’s at least a little more diversity there. And even though, I’d like to believe people here are accepting, every now and then I catch a curious glance that seems to say, “hmm … gay AND interracial?!”

A majority of people might indeed be “ready for mixed relationships” and a lot of these uneasy feelings might stem from my own insecurities and lack of confidence. But while I have always been a supporter of love in all its forms, sadly the world as a whole is not. Sure, it’s okay to be friends with someone outside your race, and let’s face it, most of us have a “token” friend of some sort but more than that — white with white, black with black and never shall the two meet for more than a fling.

SIDE NOTE: My partner and I just saw A Bronx Tale: The Musical when it came through the Twin Cities, and while the plot is respectfully thin, a bulk of it is about this very subject. So it rang a little close to home.

Sometimes there’s just a natural attraction to people of a certain similar physical appearance or because you grew up in a place where that was really your only option. Sometimes you just want to step outside your comfort zone because you heard, “once you go black you never go back” or something similar about another race, and now gosh darn-it you just want to know the truth. And sometimes you just meet someone great, decide you want to spend more time with him or her, and you don’t care what anyone else thinks. In any circumstance who are we to judge the who and the why behind it all? Navigating the emotional map known as “love” is already difficult enough, so why should people make it even more complicated by adding their two cents. If people are in love, far be it from me to tell them no.

An often-overused cliché says, “love is blind” and I whole-heartedly agree, it should be. I know that I personally have been in love multiple times with people of varying ethnicities, and currently I’m extremely happy with a partner who just so happens to be Caucasian. Lately, it feels like our world is taking a dark turn, and as hard as we’ve fought for love and equal rights, hate still manages to show it’s ugly face. But it is my deepest hope that we can turn this around and that one-day couples of every kind can showcase their love out in the open and without judgement. You may read this and assume I’m primarily advocating for the acceptance of interracial relationships, and yes that’s partially true but deep down what I’m really advocating for is the acceptance of love in general.

"More happy love! More happy, happy love!" - John Keats

- Noah Lee Jordan (#WNN)

SONG OF THE BLOG (#SOTB): “Love Hangover” - Diana Ross