Why I Married A Black Woman

Steven James Dixon January 30, 2013 0

This article will serve two purposes. Purposes #1 is to say to the Black Man, “You Take For Granted From Whence You Came.” Purpose #2 is to say to the Black Woman, “Your Imperfection Is What Has Made You Perfect.”

I am in awe of the Black Woman. She is one of God’s greatest gifts. To truly appreciate her, you have to really know her. The barrage of attacks against the Black Woman has mounted to the point where I am offended. What is even more disappointing is that the most vigorous attacks are coming from the Black Man.

I Had To Marry A Black Woman because . . .

I had to have me a sistah. She is who I am most comfortable with. She understands me. Our struggles are one in the same. We relate to each other on a different level. I need someone that understands that Thanksgiving means collard greens, cornbread, peach cobbler and honey ham. Christmas doesn’t just mean Christmas Caroling, it means Christmas Classics by the Temptations and Boys II Men. I had to marry a black woman because I need someone that understands why my cousin stole money out of his mother’s purse. I need somebody to watch LOVE JONES with me. I need to be able to walk into my house and yell out, “Nights like this, IIIIIIIIIII wish, that rain drops would faaaaaaallllll. Nights like this . . .” and my woman interrupts me to finish the chorus herself!  I need that swag. I need that sweet. I need the confidence. I need unique.

Crushed linen, grass, folding chair, ice chest, Frankie Beverly & Maze. I need that.

Us against him. Us against them. Us against the world. I need that.

There is nothing more humbling than when my wife prays over me. I need that.

As I watch my sister and my mother love. . . I need that kind of love. I can see them loving, it is tangible and alive. My sister is able to express love for another person’s children in the same fashion that she loves her own. My mother was able to love me when my father didn’t. My mother is able to love the Black Man again and again and again. I’ve told my mom to try dating outside of our race and she has yet to do so. She will never give up on the Black Man. I am not saying what you don’t get in someone else, I am saying what you do get with the love of a Black Woman.

Black Man, when you attack the Black Woman you attack yourself.

When you look at her, you should see your mother, your sister, your aunt, your niece, your likeness. If you don’t see it in her face then you should definitely see our history in her eyes. If you don’t like who she has become then you don’t like where she has come from, namely you. (Ooooh those dudes crack me up when they say that they would never date a Black Woman. You ain’t fooling nobody. You hate yourself and your Momma.) Try loving her before leaving her and risking losing her forever.

I had to marry a Black Woman because she is irreplaceable. I am not saying what you can’t get in someone else, I am saying what you have in the Black Woman. I don’t believe that love has a color either, so I’m not saying who you should love or who YOU should be with but this Black Man right here, I needed, had to have, can’t see it no other way, this is me all day, I needed a Black Woman. Again, let me be clear, if you are a Black Man and you are married to a White Woman . . . you like it, I love it. If you are a Black Woman and you are married to a Latino man. . . DO YOU! All men are not created equal. Every man cannot handle a Black Woman. Yes, she is loud. (Stop frontin’, woman, you are.) She is sometimes overly aggressive. Is she tougher to deal with?  Absolutely, no question about it. Is she unreasonable in certain situations? Could be. Is her attitude stank? Indeed, funky as hell. But I need all of that because all of that is what makes her who she is. I take the good with the bad. Name me a gender or race or type that is without fault? The Black Man has his stereotypes that he has to deal with. So does the White Man, Asian Woman, etcetera, etcetera. The problem is that the attacks against the Black Woman are coming from the Black Man.

The Black Woman that I married is like good Gumbo. I love Gumbo. Gumbo is the best thing ever.

Someone once said to me that I should not compare my wife to a food. My response to them was, “You aint neva had no good Gumbo. Gumbo is not a food, Gumbo is an experience.” My wife is the finest of Gumbos. There are some ingredients in Gumbo that if you take them out individually, I would not eat them. But together they make . . .  a spicy, delicious, comforting, filling meal that piques all of five senses and more than satisfies the appetite.

There are some characteristics about my wife that make my wife who she is. To try to change her sassiness to try to control her attitude or to try and attempt to limit the way in which she expresses herself would in effect render her . . . a food. She would have no flavor! I would end up with a bowl of that swanky restaurant Gumbo that is beyond whack! Or worse, canned Gumbo! I embrace who she is because she is who she is and I love her just the way that she is. I don’t like okra (sassiness), roux (attitude) or celery (stubbornness) but if you put those items in a pot with some seafood (sweetness), chicken (love), sausage (resiliency) and you got A WHOLE LOTTA WOMAN! (You ever notice that no one has successfully sold Gumbo in a can?)

Black Woman, stop letting the Black Man stress you out. If he is attacking you, then he is not for you and you are not for him. Shoot, I need my Black Woman. I had to have her.

Barrack Obama is Presidential all day but he would not be President without Michelle.

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