I knew what this was.

Early and often in my relationship with B.L, I have had to say the title phrase a lot. All the time.  I love her, oh so much, but there are certain things I should expect from her. Let’s take her dancing. She often tells me that she is one of the “whitest of white girls” and that it was forbidden in the college she went to for undergrad to “move your hips” while dancing. Clearly, the only clapping she does is with her hands.  But I knew that coming in.  I also knew she would have “Black People” questions. Early in our relationship, she quietly asked to touch my hair and reached for it.  Now, my standard response to this is to throw a quick side eye and say, “I’m not your Negro Petting Zoo.”  Apparently I had a bit too much bass in my voice when I said it to her the first time and things got a bit scary for a second.  (She’s pretty much over that now. I think. Probably.) 

 

We have a lot of hair related issues in this house. The first time she saw me grease my scalp was met with wonder, fear, and trembling.  When I told her what I was doing, the conversation went a bit like this:

B.L- What are you greasing your head with?  Like grease?  Like bacon fat?

Me- Why you gotta bring it to pork when you are talking to about black hair?  Why you gotta bring race into this?

B.L- I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I…wait….I didn’t….. 

 

She still walks into lines like that.  It’s pretty cute.   Until its not.

 

A few months into us dating, she reached into my afro an pulled a tangle of hair out.  Apparently she did this in order to prove she was no longer afraid of, I dunno, blackness, or my afro, or something.  As she pulled the tangle, I yelled, “I need that one!  Put it back!” I have seen less panic and scrambling on Black Friday mornings.  (B.L asked if I said Black Friday because I’m talking about blackness.  Bless her heart.)  She quickly tried to put the tangle back into my afro, moved it around several times, all the while yelling, “I’m sorry! I’m sorry!  I didn’t know!”  We went back to “asking to touch my hair” for a while after that. 

 

Another time she tried to help me twist my hair into two strand twists… It took 30 minutes to get that knot out.  A few weeks later she tried to help me take the twists out, but her arms got tired after one plat.  She is obviously not allowed to help anymore. Ever.

Our most recent, “I knew what this was” moment is something I consider unpardonable and unforgivable.  I was listening to Al Green, and she walked in and said, “Is that Luther Franklin?” When I asked her to clarify, she said, “Aretha Franklin?  Is this Aretha Franklin?”  Now, B.L swears up and down that she never said Luther Franklin, but I think that is beside the point.  I pretty much need her to know that we all don’t sound alike. Most of this I chalk up to her being raised in a pop-culture vacuum; apparently her brother is just as bad.  But come on, Al Green does not equal Aretha Franklin. 

 

As Black History Month is now nigh (no one uses the word “nigh” near enough.  I think I’m gonna throw it around for a while), and my partner is generally clueless regarding well, pop culture, I told her I’m going to provide her with a month of wonder and education. Over the next 28 days, she will watch/listen to/enjoy the following things:

 

-All 3 seasons of the Boondocks

-Do The Right Thing

-School Daze

-Bamboozled

-Roots

-The Color Purple

-Amistad

– Al Green’s Greatest Hits (at least twice)

-Purple Rain

-The Point of it All and Back to Love

-The Miseducation of Lauryn Hill

-Beautifully Human-Words and Sounds 2

– The Entire Eyes on the Prize Series

-Good Hair

-X

and

-The Preacher’s Wife  (I miss you Whitney).

 

I told her when she completes all of these things, I will stop making her feel bad every time she asks me to clean the kitchen.  We’ll see how this goes.