If you aren't aware, Loving Day celebrates the anniversary of the Supreme Court decision that struck down "anti-miscegenation laws." Miscegenation, according to the oxford Dictionary is a big word that means "interbreeding of people of difference races." In 1967 there were still 16 states that outlawed marriage between people of different races. 1967. Think about that, 53 years ago people that looked like Nyasha and I weren't considered equal enough to marry or have children.
This year I tried to write something but nothing was coming out right. The way racial injustice is being talked about on every screen in every conversation is bringing both incredible hope and massive pain for our family. For every beautiful public statement posted, there are comment sections filled with reminders that not everyone looks at our family the way we do. My heart just couldn't express itself in a way that felt honoring to this man I love so much. (Translation: I have been angry and my husband is just so calm and gentle, even in his pain.)
I did write something, I was finally brave enough to share it with him and he thought it would be good to share it with you. So here it is, my heart torn open. Grateful for the progress that has been made in 53 years and at the same time sad, angry and afraid for how far we have to go.
His Black Skin
My husband is gentle in his black skin
His voice is soft, his words are kind and holy
His heart sees the goodness in everyone he meets
My husband bears the image of God in his black skin
He is a peacemaker; seeing friction and restoring shalom
His words bring life and harmony to tense situations
His mind sees the solution while I scream into the problem
My husband is strong and traditional, conservative and
sincerely chivalrous
Yet when our living room fills with black women and me,
figuring out how to smash patriarchy in order to leave our daughters a better
world, he carries in the tea. He adds
milk and sugar for each beautiful woman as she desires
My husband bears the image of God in His black skin
He is quick to love and slow to anger
His posture is loving as he hears harsh words spoken from
the enemies of his black skin
My husband is a lover in his black skin
He was slow to pursue me, fully understanding what our love
would mean for both of us
He is strikingly handsome, humble as if he doesn’t see his
reflection as we do.
His heart forgives fully when eyes of rage glare at his
black skin holding my white skin
My husband is a daddy in his black skin
He knows what it means to lose a father, so he holds his
girls close
He cherishes his daughters, his voice is low as he reads
bedtime stories
His laugh is loud and deep during cartoon marathons.
My husband is a girls’ dad in his black skin.
They cry for him when they are scared, they know he is
strong and safe
My husband has learned about ballet and hip hop and tutu
skirts, about curl patterns and hair-care
His hands are gentle but shaky and unsure when his daughter
asks for ponytails or braids
My husband is African in his black skin
Born to the rich red soil of rural Zimbabwe where we met and
live and love
His ancestors traumatized by colonialism as my ancestors
built a system that called Africans their possessions
A system that broke and killed and raped and made them 3/5
of a whole
And then begrudgingly let them choose seats on a bus
My husband was born free in his black skin
His people fighting for freedom from oppression, only to
face it at the hands of those who look like them
My husband carries the burdens of a thousand generations on the
shoulders, wrapped in his black skin
Those same strong shoulders carry our brown skinned daughter
when her legs are too tired to go on
His arms ache from carrying the groceries and raising his
girls up all day long in a world which is made to break them
In his black skin, my husband can calm the storms that shake
my foundations
He is smart, thinking deeply before he speaks. His words are intentional. They make the world better.
My husband reads me the Gospel, his perspective richer from
the oppression he has suffered
While I stiffen, unsure of his thoughts in light of my
colonized Gospel, centered around my comfort
I am loud, entitled, and fragile, but seen as intelligent
and driven in my protective white skin
And my gentle, godly, loving husband is seen as a threat in
his dangerous black skin
As women hold their purses and men stiffen their posture and
police draw their weapons
Not because of who he is but because of their own ideals, steeped
in the white supremacy they refuse to acknowledge
They are afraid, my husband’s very being a threat to the
world that was made for them and for me
My husband is afraid in his black skin
My daughters are unsafe in their black skin
My family is beloved in their black skin
My family is waiting on you and me, in our white skin, to
right this injustice
1 comment:
Wow, just wow. I love you Regina, Nyasha, Ruth and Vivian. I love who you are and I love the way you live. Xoxo
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