So mom and dad took the family out to dinner Saturday night because my dad is going out of town tomorrow for the rest of the month. Don, my husband, said to me as we were walking out, "There wre two older ladies looking at us thru dinner." I told him that our family must be quite a sight to see. Granted there are a variety of minorities in the area, sometimes it's a little odd (not in a bad way necessarily) to see a mixed marriage...or in our case, four white fake-baked Dutchmen and one really baked non-Dutchman. I was interviewed a few months ago by a college student doing a paper or whatever on multi-cultural relationships...so thats what Prompts me today: multi-culturalism (-ism being my marriage).
What is it like to be in a multicultural marriage? As hard as I hate to admit it, Nicole Richie said something really profound when asked what it was like being the daughter of a rock star..."I don't really know, I mean I have nothing to compare it with so I don't know any different."
I don't know any different either. But what I do know is this: the most difference that is between us has nothing to do with our skin color or heritage/traditions, it has more to do with the fact that I as woman, and he as man, are created different. We think different. We behave different. We view things different. We are different.
I often forget that I am white, that I am Dutch, and that I grew up in America because nothinig in our relationship and/or marriage depends on this. It matters that I am a person, that I have thoughts, and that I have a personality. For Don too, he forgets that we are two different races. For him, I am his wife and he is my husband, that we share our lives together, that we have fun blaming things on the two fish and three gorillias in our appartment.
I love him. And I agree, seeing four white people and then one odd one sitting closely at a table built for six must be an odd sight and yes, old ladies look at us and watch us. But my grandma is over it...they should be too!
Don and I like to think of ourselves as sweet as chocolate: white chocolate or dark chocolate, its all chocolate and when you crave it, you don't think of its color.
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Rock on sister! Color doesn't matter. Take it from the mouth of my baby. He was looking at a cd cover the other day with an African American on the cover and he said..."Oh, it's papa Mike!" We're all pastie white dutchies too, but Mitchell is not old enough to "see color." Bless his little soul. Marriage (and all relationshiops) is a blending of souls, not a blending of skin.
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