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They seemed to be intimidated by my dozens of Facebook pictures with darker men, causing them to run before they even got to know me.
“They’re riddled with sexually transmitted diseases” one ignorant guy messaged me on Tinder after seeing a single picture of me with black guys on my profile.
I felt a certain pride in hanging out with people who were Dominican, Indonesian, Laos, Filipino, Hispanic, etc. My parents taught me good morals, like not judging others by their appearance, though I did have to keep my jaw clenched when I visited relatives.
They would ask me about the “colored kids” at my job as a camp counselor and spoke the word “bi-racial” in hushed tones, as if it were something to be ashamed of.
Growing up in New Hampshire didn’t prevent me from making friends or dating guys who weren’t white.
I grew up in one of the seventeen cities in the United States named Rochester (Wikipedia, 2015).
” didn’t become frequently asked questions until I began attending school at Towson University (TU) as a freshman.
How many times had I said “Mom, I met this guy, he’s white”?
No matter how anxious I was to tell my family about my boyfriend, I felt proud of my interracial relationship, like we were the result of the world uniting and becoming a better place.