CRYING RAPE/or BLACK MAMA BLUES

When my oldest son went to UT-Dallas, I gave him "the talk" relative to the area where he was about to live. I said, "you're about to be in Plano, TX. I know I've NEVER said a thing to you about who you date, and you know I don't care. But please be careful dating white in Plano." Mind you, we were pastors of a multiracial congregation and I was sure most of the children being reared in that church would cross all kinds of color lines in their partnerng life (I was right, btw). It wasn't the person; it was the community about which I was concerned. He looked at me like I had suddenly grown another head. I was actually ashamed that I felt I had to so warn him. Then, one night while in Dallas, he was accused of raping a white female student on campus. I'm still shaking as I remember his shaking voice as he told us the story. The ONLY thing that saved him was that at the time of the attack, he was with a church youth group (multiracial) and the white male pastor had several time-stamped photos of him at the time the rape occurred. I can't tell you how glad I was that he was so gregarious and outgoing and in every picture as I was that night. When confronted with the lie, the girl shrugged her shoulder and said that D was the only black boy on campus she knew by name (I WISH I COULD MAKE THESE THINGS UP). And the more unfortunate reality is that she was actually raped by a white male student... You have to understand: I have stories like these lodged in my body. ‪#‎blackmamatrauma‬ — feeling weary

© Valerie Bridgeman
July 19, 2013

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