My Love for Loving Day

You want to hear something maddening and mindboggling? Had Charles and I been living and of marriage age 53 years ago…five decades, people…we LEGALLY would not have been able to be married. 53 years ago my parents were alive, maybe you were alive. In their lifetime, marriages like mine were not allowed by law. It’s hard to wrap my head around this. If it weren’t for June 12, Loving Day, my life would look quite different. Thank goodness for Mildred and Richard Loving who, back in 1967, fought for their love that looked a lot like mine. On that date, the Supreme Court disbanded any remaining laws (IN SIXTEEN STATES) that prohibited interracial marriages. This was not hundreds of years ago. This was one generation ago. And even more mind-blowing? It took until the year 2000 (TWO THOUSAND FOR THOSE IN THE BACK THAT WEREN’T LISTENING) for all those states, Alabama being the last, to amend language in their law books. Meaning up until then, court justices could (and did) deny marriage licenses to interracial couples. 
 
So while some might say “wow, look how far we’ve come!” when they hear 1967, I say, fine, we’ve “come far” in that I was able to enter into a loving marriage with the man I cherish without fear of legal (or hate-filled) repercussions. But if these past few weeks have taught anyone anything, it’s that racial hate and systemically held racial inequity is a problem (understatement, huh?) that has pervaded our nation—our world—for FAR too long…and still very much exists. It is not yet in the rear-view mirror, as much as it’s been easy for some to think that it is. That is where privilege comes in. If racism to you feels like a bygone issue, something that faded immediately and magically when segregation ended in this country in the ‘70s, it’s time you wake up. Rise and shine, ‘cause the fight is far from over.
 
I’ve had a lot on my mind recently. I’ve mentally written so many things, to share with you, to share on Instagram, to share with no one. Anecdotes to help others understand who might still be struggling, words of anger, words of sadness, words of hope. As much as I fight it sometimes, I’m a writer, and a writer is never not writing, even if just in a mental notebook. Man is mine full. It’s been hard for me, both as a person of color and the wife of a Black man, to say all the things I want to say. The time will come when I do. Maybe when you’re less fatigued and have moved away from any Black Lives Matter hashtags. BOOM, there I’ll be, bringing up racial injustices again and the disparity that those like me and Charles have long lived with and experienced.
 
What I can say though is that I’m so in awe of the actions taken by so many right now. Thank you to everyone reading this that has moved out of their comfort zones to usher this movement forward. Thank you for fighting for a new way (a way it should have always been).

“The systemic oppression, violence and racism we so badly want to punch straight through the head was the very thing keeping us indoors.”

To be fully transparent, I haven’t gone out to protest. If there’s anything I feel passionate enough to fight for, it’s this, but yet here I remain. I talked to Charles about this during the first weekend when the protests and subsequent riots started here in LA—across the country really—and he understood. The systemic oppression, violence and racism we so badly want to punch straight through the head was the very thing keeping us indoors. Fear of unjust policing and violence targeting the brown-skinned is deeply rooted, my friends. It’s not something you shake off after reading a few Instagram Stories calling for change. Did we want to go out there with our signs and chant and scream into the sky with everyone else? Heck yes. Did the little voice that’s constantly saying “Mind your business, keep your head down, it’s safer that way for you and those like you” echo between our ears? It sure did.
 
That’s not to say I’m doing nothing. I can’t possibly. For myself, for my family, for Charles. I’ve found my “lane” so to speak, sharing with those who reach out wanting to know more, donating money to organizations I believe in, pushing hard at my job to instill change both outwardly and inwardly, sending emails to elected officials, signing and sharing petitions. It 100% doesn’t feel like enough, but change happens at many levels, and I have to believe that my efforts aren’t landing into an empty void.
 
As a non-Black person of color, I know I’m not free of certain privileges of my own, btw. I know I move through this world far more easily than my husband who sports skin several shades darker than my own. How crazy to think that something no one has any say over has such an impact on one’s life, for better or for worse.
 
If you came here today hoping I was talking about paint colors, I’m sorry to disappoint. Yes, I’ll transition back into “lifestyle” topics soon, but I couldn’t move forward without letting you know that even when, in the days, weeks, and months to come, I’m sharing my favorite skinny jeans again, or talking about the new air fryer I bought or even a bedroom makeover I’m working on, I will always be a person of color, long past when it’s trending, and my “business as usual” probably never quite looked like most people’s “usual.”