Mama refused to come on the account that I was to marry a colored woman and a devout Catholic; her Baptist religion could only forgive so much. Neither my father nor my brother cared for coloreds. So, my family is not here. Kurt is my best man, though I don’t really like him much either. We got a nice church in Boston, not too expensive, just right.
My granddaddy is probably rolling in his grave. He had slaves, just a few to help on the farm. He was good to them during Reconstruction: he kept them on as sharecroppers. And my mother, well, there are rules in the South to follow and you just don’t cross over the lines in the minds of most people.
My mother grew up in Texas, and they were well off, educated compared to my father. Mama was a school teacher; she met Papa and he put an end to that. “No more teaching, you’re my wife now.” Papa dropped out of school during the Depression and he never got over it. His family didn’t have the money to carry him through his studies. He owned an auto shop and made sure I could work as soon as I was able. We always had food on the table, but nothing extra. He was a bitter man and that Depression stayed inside him the rest of his life. He didn’t help me at all. I had to work to get through my undergrad studies. I worked as a waiter, sold encyclopedias, and anything else to get buy. Here I am thirty-five and finally getting my Ph.D. My father doesn’t talk to me anymore, he says we have nothing in common, now that I’m educated.
Margaret and I both agreed we wouldn’t travel to the South. I didn’t want to go back, and now it’d be dangerous if we did. I never thought I’d marry a colored woman, and here I am. I never thought I would meet someone like Margaret, and here she is.
I do.
I do.