Maybe It Isn’t Race

I have a secret.  Shhhh…  *leans forward and whispers*

I have no white friends.

I find that strange.  I’ve lived in predominantly white neighborhoods, went to to PWIs for school and work mainly with white women.  We get along alright.  We go to lunch sometimes and share funny stories, but rarely do we meet after work.  I don’t chat with them on Facebook or call them just to chit chat.  I could only tell you the name of one white person that I went to college with, and that’s only because she was into diversity so she was always at the Association for Black Students events. I kept in touch with very few over the years.  I’ve just never been able to create a deep and meaningful relationship with a white woman, or hispanic woman, or asian woman – just a non-black woman.

It bothers me.

I went to an associate’s potluck and the Hubster and I were the only black folks.  Not a big deal.  It happens all the time.  But I just couldn’t feel it.  Conversations were stilted.  There were lots of awkward pauses.  I really felt like what do I talk to these women about.  I’m like, don’t they talk about Real Housewives of New York like my friends and I do? They don’t pass on best places to get your eyebrows done or pedicures?

Perhaps it was the group of people that were at the party.  They were all native Texans and most had never lived any place else.  They were into hunting deer (and including it in their gumbo) and crab boils, raising kids and rooting for their respective Houston college teams.  The menu was all casseroles -blech.  The women stood around and talked interchangeably about dating and c-sections.  They all seemed to know each other from working together.  My husband and I were the odd people out.  But now that I think about it, maybe it wasn’t race at all.


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