I Hid My Face
Being a Black Woman in love with a White Man
My mother was white and my father was black. They were married in the 1960s, shortly after the Supreme Court ruled that antimiscengation laws were unconstitutional. They divorced when I was very young and we moved from Chicago, where I was born, to Indy, back with my older white siblings from mom’s prior marriage.
I grew up on the far east side of Indy, in Warren township when it was very white. I was one of three black children at my elementary school. I was always ‘one of a number’ — always. I did have a few friends and grew up as some girls do, talking about boys and wishing for a boyfriend. I had a secret boyfriend once, in elementary school. It was ‘secret’ because if we told people, he might get into trouble. We found a way to pass the notes and we exchanged secret smiles. I grew up like this, with boys never being safe enough to like me. I had a boyfriend at 16, Kenny, and his white parents and sisters actually liked me, so I got to hang out with his family and I became close to his sisters. But a prettier white girl came along, he was a wrestling star, and I was left in the dust. Plus, I wasn’t comfortable ‘going all of the way’ so he wanted a girl more willing to experiment.
This continued throughout my teen years. Before Kenny I only had one other boyfriend who had dumped me for the same reason. My teen years I really spent pining for what my other girlfriends had. I had a lot of crushes and a dalliance here and there into my late teens, until I met “Mick” at aged 21.
I met Mick through a mutual friend. His parents were out of town and Mick was hosting a big keg party very north of where I grew up. I ended up talking with him that evening and really liked him. He reciprocated and I thought, ‘wow, I have a boyfriend!’ There were instances -warning flags -where I saw the trouble that lie ahead, but I was in love and 21, so I figured it would work out. I did meet some of his friends and we hung out and had fun. I even called his house and spoke with his mom, and she liked me. She’d chat and we’d giggle about Mick before she gave him the phone. She really embraced me, especially after I sent him a half dozen roses for our one month anniversary.
It was going so well. Until he showed his mother a picture of me. She was shocked! Mick told me she said, ‘Think of what your children’s hair will look like.’ From that point forward when I called the house, she was rude. No small talk, no giggles. Just a bitter cold voice. At times I’d just get, ‘he’s not here’ and an abrupt hang up. I had to stop calling and we had to arrange that he’d call me. The good thing is I’d moved out of my Mom’s house and had my own place, so we could have time together. He could call whenever he liked. Things weren’t as great as they previously had been, but I was so smitten, and it didn’t matter.
Then the first bad incident occurred. It was a rainy Thanksgiving and I was at home with my family. Mick had invited me to his father’s family’s house for Thanksgiving. I was excited, and wore pair of black wool pants and black and white-striped sweater he said was his favorite. I waited for him, almost vibrating, and chattered nervously with my cousin, as she was going to meet Mick. My family was just about to pray over Thanksgiving dinner when the phone rang. It was Mick. He said he didn’t think it was a good idea for me to come to Thanksgiving. I asked why, but he made up a few excuses and told me he’d call later. My heart was broken. My cousin, sister-n-law and mom gathered round to comfort me and reinforced how much they loved me, “You stay here and have Thanksgiving with your family who loves you.” But 10 minutes later, the phone rang once again. It was Mick. This time though, the phone wasn’t given to me. My Mom took the call. “What do you want Mick? Linda is spending Thanksgiving with her family.” He explained he’d changed his mind and wanted to come and get me. I heard her explain that he was not to take her little girl anywhere she’d be treated poorly. “You better take care of my girl. Do not let her get hurt. I’m holding you responsible.” He promised.
He came in to pick me up and my Mom gave him that stern warning look. She put my face between her hands and kissed me. “We love you Linda, you understand your mom? You come home anytime you want baby. You call.” I smiled, hugged her and members of my family, and hurried out the door with Mick. I was happy again. I had never met any of Mick’s family, only his mom on the phone. His parents were divorced and we were going to his father’s family, who lived very far north — felt like Alaska to my Warren Township. We walked in and immediately, Mick was nervously talking about the football game we saw his uncles watching. His dad greeted us and he introduced us. He said hi, then told Mick about food in the kitchen. I said a quiet hello to the group of men gathered in the living room, but they didn’t acknowledge me. I followed Mick into the kitchen, where his stepmother was feeding a baby and a group of women were gathered, talking and laughing. His sister was among them and he hugged her and introduced me. They didn’t acknowledge me, but instead went about their business talking. Mick wanted to leave me with them so he could go talk with his dad and watch football. I stood there for a minute, in the middle of the kitchen, while they dried dishes and sliced up desserts. I didn’t know what to do. There wasn’t room for me to sit at the small table in the kitchen. Well, there was a seat with stepmom and baby, but I didn’t feel as though I should take it. I walked over to the window in the kitchen and stared out at the trees and rain. I just stood there. I tried not to touch the curtains as I didn’t want to make one wrong move. I stood there for what seemed hours, but was maybe 20 minutes, until Mick returned and asked me if I wanted a dessert. I did but I didn’t. I was afraid to do anything to draw attention to myself. His stepmother, who I learned was 20 years junior to his father, finally spoke and said hello and invited me to sit down next to Mick at the table. This lasted for a few minutes until someone would walk in, then Mick would speak nervously to his stepmother until the someone would leave the kitchen. I learned later that the stepmother was finally getting accepted into the family after a time of being shunned because of her age. If she was seen talking with me, she’d lose any social capital she’d earned. We finally left, and I was grateful. Mick apologized on the way home and asked if I was going to tell my mom what happened.
Then there was the next incident that led to our ultimate demise. One weekend his parents — mom and stepfather — were out of town and his car broke down. It was a Sunday and he’d been hanging with friends. He called from a friend’s house to ask for a ride home to his parents as they weren’t coming home until Monday. I picked him up and we pulled into his driveway and sat and talked. I was so deep in smit, I was so happy he called. Queue Murphy’s Law. His parents pulled into the driveway. They’d returned home early. He said, “Quick, hide your face!” On impulse I did, I buried my face in my hands as he hurried out of the car and talked excitedly to his parents. I waited until they went into the house before I pulled out of the driveway. I cried all night into the next day.
Mick called me the next day, but I wasn’t in the mood to talk. I went into work at my second shift hospital job, and lamented to the girls finishing their day shift. All of a sudden I got called to the reception desk. Mick was upstairs and wanted to come down to see me. He brought me a snack and apologized. “I’m so sorry. I love you. I’m sorry.” Again, I was so in love, I forgave him. I couldn’t believe he drove all the way west of downtown to apologize. That meant he had to love me. To hell with his parents, we’d be together. Maybe he could move in with me when he finished college. Or at least stay with me when he was home from college.
What I hadn’t yet learned was the fall out from that driveway encounter. And I learned on my birthday weekend. A few weeks after the ‘hide your face’ incident, I went to spend the weekend with Mick at his dorm. He was in a strange mood but I was excited to see him. That Friday evening, he picked me up from my Mom’s, who was out of town on vacation. I was staying at the house, taking advantage of a full frig and a washer and dryer that wasn’t in a creepy dark basement, like in my apartment building. He seemed distracted but he kissed me and I grabbed my stuff. We arrived at his dorm after an oddly quiet car ride. We hung out for a while with his friends, then went to his room. At this time, Mick told me ‘he loved me’ but wanted to see other women. I cried. I didn’t understand why. And why come and get me and drive me all the way here to break my heart. “I wanted you to know I do really love you. I didn’t plan to tell you until Sunday.” He finally admitted that the driveway incident had resulted in an ultimatum from his mom and stepfather, “Lose the niggar girlfriend or lose your college money!” Mick had scholarships but what the scholarships didn’t pay for, his parents did. After that, Mick said he’d decided to see other women. He apologized and swore he still loved me. Unfortunately, due to a sports commitment he had, I had to wait until Sunday for him to take me home. Sunday came, he drove me back to my mom’s where I cried on the sofa for hours, not understanding what happened.
We stayed in touch and dated off and on for a while. Mick tried to get a commitment again at one point, but I was too hurt. Plus, I was uninterested in having a relationship with a man who could so easily cast me aside. He ceased being that strong guy I’d met. I couldn’t quite articulate why I wasn’t interested, but I just wasn’t. His appeal was gone. We stopped dating when I admitted to him I would never want to settle down with him. I learned many years later he’d married a black woman and had children.
While I understand and have endured racism, its’ many faces and patterns, I can’t say I ever understood why his family hated me so completely. I didn’t do anything bad to Mick. I never said anything bad to his family. I simply was. That’s it. I don’t know that I’ll ever untangle the hatred they had in their souls.
“Racism persists because you think it is someone else’s business and not yours to resolve,” from a Medium.com article written by Rebecca Stevens A, “We Tried the White Countryside but Racism made us Come Back.” She’s right. It is your business. It is white people’s business to untangle this. After all of these years, living in my skin, I cannot figure it out. Maybe when white people can figure out the source of their hatred of other humans because of a difference in pigmentation, then we can work together so no one has to hide their face.
