You're black, I'm white. So what?

When I writing my paper about Audre Lorde's essay "The Fourth of July", I started talking to my roommate Angie. I really got into the story and started thinking about it. As you know if you've read my previous blogs, my boyfriend is black. I told Angie that I couldn't imagine not being able to go out to eat with my boyfriend because of the color of his skin. I probably wouldn't have been able to even date my boyfriend back then, much less go out in public with him.
My roommate Angie has dated black guys before too so we were both kind of on the same page. I think that if I had grown up back in the 40s and 50s when blacks were not accepted, I would've been a rebel. I would've had black friends and I would have dated black guys. I'd like to think I would have done that. Then I started to think that it really wasn't that long ago. My own mom grew up in segregated schools. It's just so hard for me to fathom. I can't imagine all the things that went on during the civil rights movement. We've never had anything like that happen close to us during our lifetime. The biggest thing we'll remember when we're older is September 11 and that wasn't even here at home.
I don't really have a point to this blog entry, it's just something that I couldn't stop thinking about. It's one of those things where you can learn everything about it but never know what it really felt like. I know things aren't perfect now, but I'm glad I grew up in a time where it was more acceptable to date people of a different race. I don't see skin color and I hope one day everyone can feel like that.