Conversations with Mama Moxie

I visited Mama Moxie last week. I love my mother, but it is rare when I actually like her. We talked about stuff. Surprisingly I didn't leave irritated or annoyed.

The reason this visit is worthy of mention is because 1) she let me say the words "gay" and "condom" on her front porch where the neighbors could have overheard me. This signals some sort of left leaning bias that she's developing, and 2) we talked about race and boys...and dating boys of a different race.

Mama and Papa Moxie rarely had frank discussions with me about race. I mean, how many parents actually do? My concepts of race and notions about it's politics developed over time without me consciously knowing it and when I went away to college and actually studied in books and developed connections with real live actual white people, I was confronted with all sorts of complexities, contradictions, and more questions.

So last week...with Mama Moxie. We talked about me and boys (she'd rather not talk about me and girls) and I told there was this boy who I liked, but that he was white. She shrugged her shoulders and said, "Eh, I always thought that would probably end up marrying a white man, so who knows about this guy." Politics (which she finds boring) and over-burdened conversations about race aside, Mama Moxie wants nothing more than for me to marry and breed. Marry and breed: that is all she wants. At this point in her life (and mine I suppose), she wants to see grandchildren and concrete proof that her daughter isn't a full on homo and that the whole "bi" thing is really just a manifestation of hanging around too many white and gay people....and white gay people.

So she says this to me. And I replied with, "Yeah, but it's about the politics, Mom." And that's when it hit me: this isn't really about the politics. This is about my mother. It always comes back to Mom, doesn't it? This was about me proving her wrong: she thought I wouldn't go to college and I did. She thought that when I did go to college, I would go to an HBCU, I didn't. She likes my hair relaxed, I keep it natural. She hates my tattoos and I save a spot on my arm to get one with her name on it.

Simply part of teenage rebellion that has continued well into my twenties. And my politics are my politics not because I wanted to be combative with her--in fact--my conservative parents have shaped my thoughts on things more than they probably would have liked to. I used to be anti-abortion like my mother. I used to be against gay adoption. I thought I was doing good to agree with my mother on that stuff. Now we talk about access to birth control and how much she loved my gay uncle. Funny how people change.

But since my father died, she and I have been getting to know each other and it's not such a bad process. And I suppose because of this, it dawned on me that I was still doing things just to prove her wrong. In this case about white boy crush, the honest truth is that I really have no problem with him being white. I have a problem with my mother (and her side of the family) thinking, "Well, you know Moxie; she's always loved white people. Look at her friends, so no surprise to us that she's with a white guy." Doesn't that sound fucking annoying? I've had to hear that for the past 20 some years. I talk funny to them. My hair is weird. I did that whole college thing and I work at a nonprofit. That is what white people do.

This translates into a quest to prove how authentically Black I am. That means not dating a white person. I can be friends with them, but I can't date them. But seriously, how could I not? In Ohio--unlike more evolved places--it's hard to find a diverse group of Black people. They exist, but you have to look hard. This means that most places I go to socialize, work, eat, etc. are dominated by whites. And in talking with the Black people that I have encountered in these places, we all find ourselves loving our Blackness--almost to a point of overcompensation--and coming to grips with the fact that most of our paramours are white...it's like we have no choice. You want to spend time with a person who likes the same things you do and for us (and me) many of these people (at least in Ohio) happen to be....well, white. Ouch. We're sell outs. And for myself, tackling that guilt of betraying the race is too much. I'd rather be alone than be a sellout. Hey, I'm not racist; I have white friends. How hypocritical of me.

To add to this, all of my white friends know how I feel about this and my irritation with heterosexual interracial relationships where Black men date white women. They have been amazingly and infinitely patient with me as I struggle with articulating just how I feel about this. And here's where Mama Moxie comes in again. She feels the same way I do. Any other race mixing is fine ("race mixing"...ha), but there is just something about Black men and white women. And this is because we're Black women. Even most Black men don't get this. They react to this sentiment as if we--Black women--are irrational bitter people. Mama Moxie and I agree that there is something about seeing a Black man with a white woman; to us it signifies some sort of rejection that he has made towards all Black women, thus eradicating the progress made in the Movement and pissing on the grave of Emmet Till himself. Or, he simply could have met the love of his life and she happens to be named Cindy and she burns easily in the sun. One can never know the difference between true love and the rejection of an entire race of women.

Mama Moxie grew up being told she wasn't beautiful. This is because her mestizo mother favored her lighter shaded children over her. And then when my mother married Papa Moxie his family rejected him because he married a Black woman. So she's ugly all over again. I guess when you have the experiences that she has had over the years, you get a little angry when you see "one of your own" perceivably dismiss you for a woman who has historically been prettier than you in art, television, magazines, movies, cosmetic industry, etc. Differing from her experiences, for me it was not so much rejection by Black men (though I have had many sexist and colorist experiences with them), but being fetishized by white men and patronized by white women that fueled by ire for actually dating/screwing/marrying them. The personal is political....I have dated/screwed them. Much to my chagrin. Chagrin...guilt, whatever. I couldn't stand the idea of being seen by other Blacks as self-hating. Those Blacks that do date whites because of their disdain of their own race bother me and I'd rather die than be confused for one of them. The ultimate "fuck you" would be me having a bona fide relationship with another Black person; and not just any person: a Black man. That way, I am dissing the patriarchal culture, affirming my beauty, and pleasing and disproving my mother all at the same time.

And I learned that she fetishizes the simple idea of being someone's wife whereas I have grown to fetishize the basic idea of being with a Black man. The reality is, I have no idea what white guy crush will turn into, but it is amazing that even an ink drop of possibility of maybe-seeing him-and-maybe-talking-to-him-for-just-a-minute turned into a mother/daughter exchange that transcended every article, forum, white paper, or documentary ever created to touch on the raw emotion that only life experiences can bring.

I finally "came out" to myself about my own thoughts and beliefs. Identifying and accepting your own flaws is amazing and rare. To top it off, she made dinner.

On her porch on a summer evening, Mama Moxie and I talked...not in that academic/analytical/critical thinking way, but in that, "Hey, I see where you're coming from" kind of way....when two people who don't see eye-to-eye on anything connect on something big. She misses Papa Moxie. Father's Day was hard for her....and me. And it is crazy to think that had he not passed away, there wouldn't be conversations like these.