Can You Be Black, Woke and Date A White Person?

Earlier this week a woman asked me out on a date. Since I began my new job more than a month ago, we’ve come in contact on a few occasions and exchanged pleasantries, maybe even flirted a few times here and there. (Note: I don’t know that we’ve flirted. I’m kind of an awkward guy about flirting. I know I’ve said some shit, and she’s laughed at said shit, thus I’ve said more shit for her to laugh at, and she’s told me I’m funny in a flirty type of way. So I guess that’s flirting.) We don’t necessarily work together, but our jobs require us to interact on a weekly, sometimes daily basis. I should tell you that this woman is white, and I am a Black man.

It’s not the first time this has happened in my life. One cannot have had the experiences that I have and not caught the eye of females with fairer skin. After all, my name is Morgan McDaniel, I frequently play golf, enjoy the outdoors, love baseball, and grew up idolizing hockey players (most notably Steve Yzerman and Wayne Gretzky) and listening to The Offspring, Barenaked Ladies, and Hootie & The Blowfish.

Despite growing up in one of the Blackest cities in the America (Detroit, what up doe?!), my mother frequently thrust my twin brother and me into settings that featured us as the token Black kids. Whether it was music camps, Saturday morning art classes, or sleepovers at a friend’s house in Suburban Michigan, I could usually count the number of brown faces on one hand within my surroundings, my brother and I included. Maybe two hands if the overall population of the event we were attending was large enough. But never more than two. NEVER!

Furthermore, my voice sounds like a mashup between Bryant Gumble and Kermit The Frog. I prefer to dress in graphic tees or collared shirts and Levi’s with Nike SB Dunks. I’ve been told by many Black chicks, some who have curbed the shit out of me and others whom I’ve dated, that I “seem like I’d be into white girls,” whatever the fuck that means. My beloved family once predicted that I’d probably be the only descendant of the Williams clan to bring a non-Black woman to a family reunion.

But given the events of last week, and my life for that matter, I couldn’t help but ask myself, “Can a woke as fuck Black person date a white person?” Better yet, “Can a woke as fuck Black person date a non-Black person?”

For the record, I’m not a subscriber to the notion that people MUST exclusively date others of the same race. I don’t believe love sees color. Anyone can fall in love with somebody. Some of the most woke people I know, follow or admire either date or are married to non-Black folks. This includes a friend who received a degree in African-American Studies from FAMU, a few former coworkers, and celebrities Franchesca “Chescaleigh” Ramsey and Dave Chappelle. This afternoon, via Facebook, I read a touching delineation of a black man’s life and his harsh experiences with racism. According to his profile, he’s in a relationship with a white woman. Thus, it’s possible.

I guess the better question is, “Can I be woke as fuck and date a non-Black woman?” And the answer is, eh maybe. But it’s highly improbable. Damn near impossible. I love ALL women, and I am indeed attracted to a fair share of non-Black females. A few of my celebrity crushes include Zoey Deschanel, Brie Larson, Ashley Graham and the lovely Jennifer Lawrence. The chick that asked me out? I find her quite attractive too, as do most of the guys that work with me.

Plus, she passes my preliminary dating criteria of a White person seeking a relationship with a Black person; She believes that Black Lives Matter and knows that All Lives Matter is thinly veiled racist, bullshit. She appreciates the musical differences between hip-hop artists like The Roots, Kendrick Lamar and J. Cole, and clowns such as Desiigner, Fetty Wap and Rich Homie Quan. Lastly, she enjoys the film Malcolm X featuring Denzel Washington, thinks Idris Elba would be a suitable choice to adopt the role of James Bond, and is eagerly looking forward to Donald Glover’s upcoming show “Atlanta.” She may be pandering the fuck out of me to secure a date, much like Hilary Clinton does to secure the Black vote, but I highly fucking doubt it.

Either way, my biggest trepidation isn’t who she is, it’s my thorough appreciation for the strong Black women in my life. Hence, it frames my mindset and desire to be with a strong Black woman.

While my mother purposely put me in Caucasian-centric environments, she also instilled a great sense of Black pride, self-worth, and identity. My childhood home is beautifully decorated with African masks and paraphernalia. At age eleven, I was forced to watch Boyz N The Hood, Rosewood, and Roots. When I showed an interest in art, my mother emphasized that I know Black artists such as Romare Bearden, Gordon Parks, Charles White, Elizabeth Catlett, Annie Lee, Alma Thomas and Jean-Michel Basquiat before studying the likes of Picasso, Vincent Van Gogh, and Rembrandt.

I remember my grandmother telling me the excruciatingly brutal tales of Emmett Till, the bombing of the 16th Street Baptist Church in Birmingham and personal, racially motivated, tragedies she experienced growing up in rural Alabama. My aunt made sure my literary rotation included Alice Walker, James Baldwin, Walter Mosley and Richard Wright. I was raised by a catalog of beautiful God Mothers who taught me the importance of respecting women, even if they are “fast-tailed heffas who lack respect for themselves.”

And every time I experienced the slightest sense of failure, defeat or discrimination – like the time I was disqualified from a golf tournament for displaying “Black, thuggish behavior,” or told that I wouldn’t be Caddy of The Year because my boss preferred to give it to another white kid with close member ties (despite my exceptional performance), or most recently leaving my job and battling depression – they have all been there to stand by me, console me, and scold me, if necessary.

It is because of them that I still exist. It is because of them that I am the man that I am. It is because of them that I am drawn to women who display their traits, most of which are uniquely exclusive to Black women.

I declined the invitation to go on a date with the female I mentioned earlier. I’m sure she’s a swell person, or at least she seems like one. But following my last relationship, I’m in a place where I don’t feel like laboring through the song and dance of getting to know someone’s likes, dislikes, pet peeves, favorite colors, birthdays, or other nuances. I can do without that shit for now. But when I am ready to love again, I want to fall in love with a beautiful Black woman, who’s into the same millennial, outdoorsy, sci-fi, sports-centric, dry humor, Christian, Black power shit that I am.

Because while love doesn’t see color, it’s important that we do. It’s important that my future mate and I see the world through the same lens. It’s imperative that we readily embrace and support each other unconditionally. It’s pivotal that we bask in each other’s auras and share corny-ass inside jokes. It’s crucial that we battle systemic issues and racial biases as one cohesive unit. And while I may find this in a non-Black person, given the level of my unapologetic Blackness, it’s highly unlikely. Black love is beautiful.

C’mon Kevin!!!

Earlier this wondrous Independence Day holiday, Kevin Durant decided to write some bullshit (it wasn’t bullshit, I’m just pissed off right now) on The Players’ Tribune about why he’s taking his lanky ass and impressive basketball skills to the Bay Area. Unlike some people, I respect his decision. Joining Golden State¬†assuredly guarantees that the self-proclaimed Easy Money Sniper will obtain his first NBA title, and most likely a Finals MVP, since the younger Wardell Curry loves performing disappearing acts once the calendar hits June. I like Kevin Durant. I admire his game, I wear his slept-on, dope-ass shoes (fuck y’all, them KD 8s are hard), and I even rooted for him when he took on the Greatest Team to Never Win a Championship in the Western Conference Finals (I still don’t understand how y’all lost 3 straight games, b). Simply put, Durantula is taking a better job, and I can’t be mad at the brother for enhancing his employment status. But Kev is fucking shit up for me. Seriously, this man is killing my motherfucking vibe.

First off, I will never be able to play NBA 2K17. EVERY NEGRO IN THE ENTIRE UNIVERSE IS GOING TO PICK THIS TEAM!!!! EVERYONE GOT DAMMIT!!!! And they will most likely dominate the living shit out of every opponent. That means the little time that I devoted to pummeling snot-nosed teenagers and over-zealous adults to reduce my stress and increase my dopamine levels is gone. I will now be forced to fill this two-hour window with something more productive, like working out, or volunteering, or some other self-fulfilling, positive shit like that. My shit-talking video game days are officially on hiatus until further notice.

Second, I’m going to endure the unadulterated, obnoxious, egotistical bullshit of Stephen A. Smith and Michael Wilbon. These two faux journalistic blowhards will undoubtedly use every ounce of airtime attributed to them to discredit and dismantle Durant’s character, manhood, and Blackness. They will talk about how this is the worse thing a superstar athlete could ever do on the face of the fucking planet (I pretty sure Aaron Hernandez did the worst shit ANY athlete could do) and that no Hall of Fame caliber player would have ever dreamt of joining the team that just dismantled them a few months prior in a hard-fought, contentious series. They will make my ears bleed as I tune into ESPN to watch baseball highlights, impatiently anticipating the upcoming NFL season. (COME THE FUCK ON ALREADY AUGUST!!!!!)

And it will get worse. More faux journalists (like Jason Whitlock) and more blowhards (like Colin Cowherd) will fling their ill-conceived takes the way a gorilla does his shit. They will use big “L” words like “legacy” and “loyalty” in describing their disapproval of Durant’s decision. They will call him a hypocrite for doing the very thing he criticized LeBron for when he made “The Decision.” Pretty soon the idiots that tune into this fabricated nonsense will absorb it as gospel and began to permeate the places I find refuge in by regurgitating these felonious opinions as their own. Barbershops, rec centers, golf courses and churches will become a wasteland of bullshit Durant driven debates.

“Jordan would’ve never done no shit like that. Magic would’ve done no shit like that. Kareem would’ve never done no shit like that. These young niggas ain’t loyal in the game. The game done changed.” I will hear this word pollution to exhaustion, with the clamoring noise coming to fever pitch once the Rio Olympics commences (an Olympics that shouldn’t be happening at all) and we witness 3/4 of the Fearsome Four that will obliterate the entire fucking NBA next season (it will probably be a joy to watch too).

This is worse than LeBron’s departure to South Beach when he united with D-Wade and some raptor-looking dude named Chris Bosh. The Warriors have been to two consecutive NBA Finals, winning the first and blowing the second. They now have the league’s last 3 MVPs (“The real MVP” Durant, an unsuspecting Curry and the video game Curry who didn’t miss from inside of 90 feet until the Finals). The 2010 Miami possessed a mere likely-hood of becoming the NBA Champs. There was uncertainty in their union that allowed haters to discredit their claim to the iron throne that is the Larry O-Brien trophy.

That doesn’t exist with these Warriors. Barring injury, it’s a foregone conclusion that they will reach the NBA Finals, en route to setting wins, offensive efficiency, and overall fun records. They now have 4 of the NBA’s top 10 players and a deep bench to compliment them. Their coach is both savvy and accomplished enough to command the respect of his players. Egos will be snuffed out with Sandlotesque jubilation and chipper buoyancy.

Hence, my third and final gripe; the Warriors are going to render the upcoming NBA season pointless to watch. It’s painfully ironic that the television contract that allowed for this union to happen is going to be a huge waste of fucking money. The only advertisers that will be willing to shell out cash to satiate ESPN’s mammoth deal are the companies that employ a player on (self-proclaimed tech god and NBA guru) Joe Lacob’s payroll (Under Armour, Nike, Britta, State Farm Insurance, American Family Insurance, Anta, Sprint, etc.).

Witnessing the Warriors reign will be the closest thing to state-sponsored television the U.S. will¬†produce; we know what’s going to happen already, but we’re forced to watch because they’re going to be on ALL THE FUCKING TIME!!!!

So enjoy yourself, Durant. I look forward to your mother sitting next to the picturesque Curry family (wait, can you imagine the Moms Club of the Warriors now? Can we get a reality television look at the life of Sonya, Mary, and Wanda together eating Sunday brunch? Seriously, Bravo, make this shit happen), decked out in a rhinestone, royal blue, and California yellow jersey, screaming in joy as you dunk on the Cleveland LeBronites next year. But just know you’ve made my life difficult. Because haters gon’ hate, and you just supplied them with a ten month arsenal of industrial-grade napalm.