Diary Pages -- May 2003

Ahhh, the familiar terror of the blank page.

Welcome, torture.

Still thinking about the e-rants of Miss White Disgusted--who made it quite clear that she's had it up to HERE with the snide remarks, evil looks and general disapproval from black women about her relationship with a black man--and Mr. Black Royalty, who had a thing or two to say in reply to Miss White Disgusted. Both of them angry, both fed up, about the other's clueless attitude. Or something like that.

Very interesting reading indeed.

I can't decide what fascinated me more, Miss Disgusted's insulting ignorance about black female anger or Mr. Royal's sardonic reply--which, for all its loyalty and impassioned righteousness, rang slightly false somehow.

I mean, he made his point, Mr. Royalty did, about the strict upbringing of young black women and how this made the sexual "availability" of willing young white women an appealing option for young black males on the make. ("You're no goddess, baby--you're just easy!")

I have to admit I liked what he Mr. R had to say about the resilient strength of African-American women through the generations, the way generations of us have taught white women how to cook, how to dress; how we've raised white women's babies even as our own were ripped from our arms forever.

And let's give Mr. Black Royalty points for his willingness to acknowledge black male fear of black women, and the worry that she will leave him behind as a higher wage earner--better educated, better motivated to succeed, more socially sophisticated--enters her life (or as she becomes all of those things).

Yeah, I liked all of that. Until I slowed down to