Man beaten for dating black woman updating a strategic plan

He told me that he had gotten out of a 10-year relationship with the girl he thought he would marry and I told him that I had spent two years alone finding myself.

I wondered how men with such delicate bodies seemed to be the only ones who could endure the storm. We bought crop tops, tight jeans, and earrings so big that they touched our shoulders.

When my cousin on the all-black side birthed a baby girl whose father had become abusive, we took a long ride to a shopping mall. On the ride home we were quiet and I decided I would never date a black man as long as my feet touched this earth.

It didn’t feel like love at first, more like companionship at our all-time lows.

We were open with each other; he had been warned to stay away from black girls, and I was advised to not date men of color.

I had hushed conversations in the corners of cafés about how important it was to keep feeding the black community with positive affirmations and how it began with loving black men.

I wore Black Lives Matter buttons, attended marches, sported hoodies, vowed to date only black men, and prepared myself to raise a son who might be faced with a death in the same vein as Trayvon, a name I had spoken so often that it felt like that of a brother.Our family is a classic case of women and the black men who left them versus the white men who stayed.I remember being 6 and slapping my white uncle in the face to figure out why his face turned bloodred.Our portrait was perfectly hung and constantly dusted for shine.But whenever he would call, I would let my phone ring until the screen went black. ” “Soon,“ I would say, as though there was more urgency in believing it to be true.There was something about watching a black boy murdered from the comfort of my home that made me want to go out and love a black man as hard as I could, as though somehow it could resurrect the child in him.

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