Now, when I say my husband was from a “whole different world,” I am not of course simply speaking of race. Yes, I am going to say right here and now that I feel that black people and white people are different. Beyond the purely biological differences we face (e.g. higher rates of sickle-cell anemia in black communities, cystic fibrosis in white, etc.), there are astounding cultural variances that define our experiences. I speak in generalities, of course. My husband, bless his heart, was frequently referred to as the “whitest black man ever” due to his alarming penchant for all-things Nascar and Budweiser. And, on the other side of that same coin, you’ve got gangsta rappers who are the palest white boys ever. I’m not saying that black and white are exclusive of one another – I am merely stating that the two communities are different.
No, when I speak of my husband as being from a “whole different world” from mine, I am mostly speaking of his culture and family background. When I met him, he still lived in the house he had grown up in. He had lived for a while on the “other side” (as the western shore of Maryland is known to native Eastern Shore residents) but had come back to take up residence on the family land when his dad passed. He had a HUGE family of cousins, aunts, uncles, and church friends, most of whom he had known for his entire life – but rarely saw. He didn’t want to attend family reunions or Sunday outings with his mother. He was content to live isolated and quiet. He had an inherent distrust of city people, cultivated over years as a career firefighter/paramedic for the Baltimore City Fire Department. He frequently made Haji jokes about people of Arab descent and the phrase “damn Mexicans” applied to any Latino he saw. He had never attended college, other than his paramedic and firefighter training, and would rarely be seen with a book unless he was studying for a promotions test. His idea of enjoying nature is to watch Ted Nugent’s hunting shows on the Outdoor Network. And his idea of a great movie involves lots of guns, blood, and bad guys with bad accents.
Myself, on the other hand, was as different as night from day. I came from a small family with only a few cousins – and we all faithfully and excitedly gather for every holiday and occasion, from weddings to Groundhog’s Day. I had chosen, though, to move 500 miles away from them in an attempt to define myself as a separate human being in those troublesome post-college years. I had two degrees in my hand and frequently read voluminous books “just for fun.” I love to go out and be with people and to talk. I love to travel and venture into new places and new communities to see what I can learn – especially in cities. I love to be outside in the open air, with a breeze blowing through the trees as I walk the dog or the snow falling quietly over me as I shovel.
So we were very different people from the start. Having nothing to do with skin color, although that would later play a major role in the story, my husband and I had vastly different approaches to the world. Add to that the fact that he was 14 years my senior and you will be able to deduce the many lessons I have learned in my marriage, about relationships, about men, and about our society’s approach to anyone that is “different.”
A thoughtful insight into Memoirs of a Black Man’s Bride – Part 2 The Burning Horse and ideas I will use in my blog. You’ve obviously spent some time on this. Excellent stuff!