I told him he didn't have to do that, but he insisted.He directed us to a hotel where he had already made a reservation.He had told me that watching my videos made him happy and miss America.Now we were on a first date because I am a crazy narcissist.He sounded very stressed; he said that we could no longer stay with him because his mother had been recently mugged by a black man and would not stand to have a black man in the house.He felt so bad that he said he would pay for a hotel.And there was a comfort and an instant ease that I'd never experienced before.
When I was younger, my mom always told me I should date (and eventually marry) "within the race."When I invited my first serious boyfriend — who was white — to the house to meet my parents, my mother actually asked him if his older brother was "as pink" as he was, referring to his skin color. A few years later, when I was in college, she told me she had given up on the idea of me marrying a black doctor and was beginning to look forward to the day when she could meet her "zebra-baby" grandkids.
He probably had less money than we did, and the hotel, more like infested motel, certainly reflected that.
I recall much argument that night among us four travelers about what my friend should have done or what each of us would have done, but I never blamed him.
Each generation can only try to make fewer mistakes than the last. I never thought I had a type, but I had also never dated anyone who wasn't white before I met my current girlfriend.
When I first saw her (and her smile), I was smitten.