CHAPTER 3: DOES EVERYTHING HAVE
TO BE ABOUT RACE?

C:   One day, when we’d been dating for about six months, Adaeze called. I assumed she was just checking in on her way to the gym, but I could tell from her voice that something was wrong. Her breathing was labored, and she was barely articulate.

Between staggered breaths, she told me she had been pulled over. I asked if the officer was still there.

“No. He gave me a ticket and left.”

She was so upset, I asked her if something bad had happened during her interaction with the police officer, but she said it was just a routine traffic stop. Yet several moments after the officer had driven away, Adaeze was still parked on the side of the road, shaken and gasping for air.

I took a few deep breaths with her to help her calm down. “What’s going on, Adaeze? Talk to me.” I could still hear the panic in her voice as she said . . .

A:   “I saw the flashing red and blue lights, and all I could think about was Jacob Blake and George Floyd . . .”

C:   I knew exactly what she was talking about. A few weeks earlier, Jacob Blake had been shot seven times in the back by police officers in Kenosha, Wisconsin. The story had flooded news streams around the country. And this was right on the heels of George Floyd’s death in Minneapolis, also at the hands of the police.

I suddenly realized how different an experience like this was for her than it was for me.

I’ve been pulled over before. Naturally, I was frustrated. Maybe a little annoyed that the officer decided to pull me over when the person in front of me was going much faster. At no point, though, was I worried about my safety.

In contrast, there was Adaeze, heart racing and wondering if she should grab her phone and try to livestream the whole thing on social media so someone could get help if anything went sideways.

I was thinking about insurance hikes, figuring out how I was going to pay the fine, and feeling angry at the police officer for doing his job. Adaeze was praying to God that she would not be the next national news story.

Later that night, I talked to a family member on the phone.

“You have to understand,” I explained, “Adaeze’s world is just different. When she sees police lights in her rearview mirror, she’s legit wondering if she’s going to be the next victim of police violence.”

“What does race have to do with it?” came the retort. “You just need to learn to respect the authorities.” The implication being that if something bad had happened to Adaeze, it would have been because she didn’t know how to respect others. This couldn’t have been further from the truth.

Then they said, “There just needs to be strong father figures to teach these things.”

Now that cut deep. To assume that Adaeze was a disrespectful person who couldn’t handle herself with authorities was not only completely false—it was a degradation of her character. But to take it a step further and say that all Black fathers are failing not only their kids but society?

That gross generalization of an entire community is steeped in historically biased bigotry and leaves no room for any other statement to be considered truth.

Adaeze lost her dad in 2010, yet his influence on her is still so strong that it is almost futile to try to put it into words. This man, whom I never had the pleasure to meet, oozes through his daughter. His kindness and gracious heart shine through her. His love of the Word, his wisdom, and his consistent devotion to Jesus live on through her. And his infectious spirit continues to make waves because of the kind of friend and leader Adaeze is.

Regardless, pinning the blame on Black fathers is gaslighting at its finest. It says that the actions of a dangerously biased white officer do not matter, and it places the fault on the shoulders of the Black father, no matter the quality of his parenting.

“This has nothing to do with father figures,” I said, trying to keep the edge out of my voice. “Adaeze had an amazing father and mother who taught her how to respect others, including authorities. Here’s what you’re missing: when Adaeze sees shootings and violence on TV, she sees her brothers. She sees herself.”

“But as long as she doesn’t do anything wrong . . .” they countered.

“It doesn’t always matter,” I cut in. “Look at Ahmaud Arbery. He was just out jogging in Georgia, and a couple of white guys in a pickup chased him down and killed him with shotguns. He wasn’t doing anything wrong. He was just minding his own business, and the next thing you know, he’s a victim. When the police showed up, they didn’t do anything. Those guys killed an innocent man, and nobody got arrested or was held accountable until months later when a video of the shooting went viral. So, when Adaeze sees police lights behind her, she’s hoping that whoever gets out of that vehicle isn’t corrupt. She also does everything in her power to show that person as much respect as she can to make sure they have no reason whatsoever to think she might be a threat. Out of self-preservation, she has to think about things differently than you or I would.”

A:   When Chad told me about this conversation, it wasn’t the first time I’d heard the idea that Black people just need to learn to behave. Unfortunately, instead of leaning toward compassion and empathy, Chad’s family member immediately assumed the worst of me and all Black people. The root of the issue is the assumption that any problem in an interracial interaction is the fault of the person of color. This is why, early on, I had a difficult time moving forward in love with this particular family member. It seemed like no matter where I was coming from, they didn’t wanna hear about my experiences. In their mind, I was in the wrong and the white person was right.

This is damaging for interracial relationships because when we enter into them with this bent toward white people being the moral default, we assume the problem must lie with whoever is not them. Conversely, that means Black people typically fall under the default of villainy, no matter our actions.

Under this scope, even when a Black person acts respectful when pulled over and has their hands on the ten and two and says, “Yes, sir,” or “No, ma’am,” sometimes it’s not enough. Society usually defaults to the good intentions of white people as a whole rather than acknowledging the good intentions of Black people as a whole. This is why Black people can often feel like we have to walk on eggshells around white people—always on our best behavior so we don’t fulfill a negative stereotype that has been wrongfully placed on us.

C:   As white people, we can feel like we need to walk on eggshells as well. The difference is that our anxiety is self-inflicted. Adaeze feels pressured by white society to act a certain way. I, on the other hand, become stifled because I expect perfection from a Black person, and when they do not meet it, I label them an angry Black person. We both backpedal, but in my case, it’s out of fear of facing the wrath of the stereotype I just created in my head. The Black person steps back in an attempt to dodge the familiar label they see waiting to jump onto them like a persistent nemesis.

By the way, lest you think situations like Jacob Blake or George Floyd are isolated incidents, not long ago, a Black friend of ours from church was visiting his parents in Arizona. One night, he was driving back to their house around 10:00 p.m., when he saw red and blue flashing lights. He pulled over.

The police officer came up to his window and asked him to get out of the vehicle. He was not told why he’d been pulled over, so our friend asked the officer for an explanation before he got out of the car.

Just to be clear, he had not been speeding and was not offered any information, nor was he asked for his license and registration. He was just immediately asked to get out of the car.

When our friend instead asked a question, the cop pulled his gun on him. Then, with a barrel pointed at his head, our friend got out of his car and was handcuffed on the hood. The officer proceeded to search his vehicle. Of course, he found nothing.

A:   Every time I think of this story, I’m so thankful to God that this police officer didn’t plant a small baggie of drugs as he searched our friend’s vehicle. This is a tired trick that, sadly, the Black community has heard of too many times.

C:   As the officer uncuffed him, he gave our friend a warning that he should not be driving around this neighborhood (which happened to be a wealthy, predominantly white neighborhood) that late at night. In the end, the officer left without doing anything other than severely racially profiling a young man down the road from his parents’ house.

This type of thing happens to Black people all the time.

The fact that my family member was unable to fathom what race had to do with Adaeze’s “routine traffic stop” underscored how oblivious they were to the fact that people with a different skin color live in a completely different reality than white people do.

If we’re being totally honest, most white people (myself included) have probably asked that same “What does race have to do with it?” question before. But before we write off Adaeze’s response to a traffic stop as a case of paranoia or oversensitivity, let me share a few incidents that made me realize just how often things are about race.

“ARE YOU TWO . . . TOGETHER?”

C:   One evening, shortly after we were married, Adaeze and I were hanging out at a distillery near our home. This place was tiny—I mean, really tiny. Packed to capacity, it can probably hold fifteen customers, tops. As it happened, on this particular night, we were the only customers in the place and had been for the better part of an hour.

We’d both had a rough day and were kicking back in a corner booth, enjoying some much-needed time together and having a drink or two to unwind. The whole time we were there, we were talking, laughing, and hanging all over each other. We were also in close enough proximity to the bartender to pull her into our conversation a handful of times because it almost felt awkward if we didn’t.

When it started getting late, Adaeze and I asked for the check. The white female bartender—who had been right there watching us and listening to our conversation—walked over and asked, “Is the check together or separate?”

A:   Okay, you might be wondering, So what does that have to do with race? If that were an isolated incident, maybe we could write it off, but after it’s happened enough times, it’s hard to deny the trend. Here’s another story from early on in our marriage for you.

We were in a grocery store, joking, laughing, and taking turns grabbing what we needed off the shelves. Don’t ask me why, but for some reason, whenever Chad and I go to the grocery store, we never get a cart, regardless of how much stuff we need. We just grab one of those little hand-held baskets, which Chad, being the gentleman he is, always insists on carrying. And I am more than happy to oblige.

On this particular trip, our grocery selection went far beyond the capacity of our basket to the point that both our arms were completely full.

C:   And that was before we realized we also needed milk . . .

A:   And paper towels.

C:   Yeah, we had not thought this through.

A:   We were still cracking up as we walked up to the checkout. Chad was in front of me, having just made some goofy comment that got me cackling pretty good. The cashier was standing behind one of those cash registers that doesn’t have a grocery belt and only has a little counter where you can set your stuff down. Chad put our basket down, still very much interacting with me, and I with him. Because the counter was full, I waited to hand the white male cashier the rest of our groceries until after he emptied the basket so as to not overwhelm him with too much at once.

Then, as I started to hand him the paper towels, he literally put two hands up toward me as if to say, “Whoa . . . wait a minute.” He looked at Chad and asked, “Is this all together?” as if I was trying to sneak my own personal groceries onto Chad’s bill or something.

We were both floored.

C:   I mean, think about it. When was the last time you were asked, “Together or separate?” at a grocery store? It just doesn’t happen. Why? Because it is so incredibly clear when people are checking out together—especially when you’re standing together in a space the size of an airplane bathroom . . .

A:   Aaand the other person literally hands you more groceries as you’re scanning the first person’s stuff. So we both said . . .

C & A:   “Uh, yeah, it’s together . . .”

A:   Which was enough to send the guy into major backpedal mode. Still facing me, he kept his hands up in defense, as if I’d just asked him to empty the cash register for me. The way he was looking at me almost seemed like he wanted me to prove that I was married to Chad, even though my wedding ring (which Chad had custom-made for me, by the way) was facing him as I held the paper towels. Completely exasperated, I looked over at Chad, who was staring—dumbfounded—at the cashier.

“Okay,” the cashier said defensively, with his hands up in a let’s-all-take-it-easy-here kind of way. “I just wanted to make sure.” It was almost as though he was trying to convince us he was just doing his job.

C:   Which was a bunch of bull.

A:   I was sooo close to asking him, “Do you ask every customer that?” But I bit my tongue. Sometimes the fruit of the Spirit, namely self-control, actually does win out in me.

C:   Anyway, we paid for our groceries and walked out of the store, and as we walked to the car, we just stared at each other, perplexed.

A:   We finally broke the silence and asked each other, in unison, “Did he really just ask us that?”

C:   This has happened to us so many times, in a variety of circumstances.

A:   And it’s not just us—some of our friends have noticed it too.

C:   One time, we were on a double date with a white couple. When the waiter was ready to bring out the checks, he pointed Adaeze and me out and asked if we were together or separate. He did not, however, ask our friends the same question.

A:   Picture it. Chad and I were sitting together on one side of the table, and our friends were sitting together on the other side. The point being: there were clearly two couples present, but only we—the interracial couple—were asked how we wanted to handle the check.

C:   After enough incidents like this, you reach a point where you realize this likely never would have happened were we not an interracial couple.

A:   This is why the question, “What does this have to do with race?” has to be genuinely considered by the person asking—not in an exasperated way but from a truly reflective place. This question arises not only in everyday situations like these but also in situations that feel particularly triggering.

C:   Like when you got pulled over in the wake of George Floyd, Ahmaud Arbery, and Jacob Blake.

A:   Exactly. In fact, when we were driving from Asheville to Durham to visit some friends—on the same day we saw those two guys walking around wearing camo and Confederate flag gear—we drove right past the biggest Confederate flag I have ever seen. It was right there on the side of the road, waving proudly in the wind, looming over the highway. If I didn’t know better, I’da sworn that thing was saying, “Get outta here”—directly to me.

C:   As oblivious as I’d been during that trip, I did notice that Adaeze was upset by it. (Well done, Chad.) So I reached over, took her hand, and said, “You know . . . the Confederate flag is also about showing Southern pride. It’s not just about racism.” (Well done, Chad—retrospective facepalm.)

A:   My man.

C:   I know. I’m sorry. Poor timing.

A:   Actually, what Chad said wasn’t untrue. The Confederate flag is a symbol of Southern pride. What initially bothered me about Chad’s comment was the implication that because the flag also represents Southern pride, I shouldn’t be bothered by its association with racism—as if one naturally cancels out the other. In other words, my feelings were invalid because, “Look what else is true.”

The problem with a white person making a statement like this is that it absolves them from having to sit in the pain of the situation with the person of color. It’s like they’re subconsciously saying, “Yeah . . . I really don’t wanna deal with this, so here’s what I’m gonna offer you.” They acknowledge it, but they don’t own it. It’s a consolation prize—a “there, there” that doesn’t help the recipient at all but makes the sender feel good about themselves for having made the effort.

SOMETIMES IT’S NOT ABOUT RACE

C:   Okay, now that we’ve talked about how much race plays into things, we should probably mention one area where it doesn’t—at least not for us.

So many people look at our relationship as difficult purely because I am white and Adaeze is Black. Sure, cultural differences make things difficult at times, but my life is not harder because of my wife’s skin color, nor is hers harder because of mine.

The truth is a lot of relationships have problems that are not visible, at least not immediately.

For example, a colleague might have a history of alcoholism in their family and not want to go out for happy hour with the team.

Two friends may have grown up on opposite sides of the financial tracks and have opposing views about how to handle money at a bachelor party.

One roommate might come from a family that talks everything out and embraces healthy conflict, while the other comes from a family where speaking one’s mind was considered talking back and everything was swept under the rug for the sake of keeping a faux sense of peace.

These are all factors that cause issues in relationships, but because you can’t see them, most people don’t ask about them. Race, however, is a visible “problem,” which gets inflated to seem much more serious than a lot of the unseen, “normal” problems in relationships.

It’s fascinating to me that people will come up to Adaeze or me, or both of us together, and ask, “What’s it like to be in an interracial marriage?” But nobody ever walks up to anyone and asks, “What’s it like to be friends with someone who grew up so much richer (or poorer) than you?” Or “What’s it like working with someone who grew up in Texas when you’re from the Bronx?”

I wonder what makes people feel like they even have a right to ask that kind of question. What is it about race that seems to give a free pass to dig into someone else’s private business?

A:   We are not naive enough to think that being Black and white in a relationship doesn’t bring its own set of unique challenges. We could write a book about that.

C:   We have!

A:   Ha! (We clever.) We could probably write another one because we live in a world that all too often tells us—in one way or another—that we’re too different from each other to make this work.

Ironically, most of the issues that do arise as a result of us being an interracial couple originate from outside our relationship. Other people may have a problem with it, but me and Chad? We geuh.

C:   That’s why we wish the people who don’t understand or approve of our relationship could see from the inside how good it is instead of looking at it from the outside through their own filters.