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An evening walk in the park on a clear Fall night

There were plenty of lovely young Black women at fine schools like Carleton University and the University of Ottawa. I met several, and went out with them and along the way, I left them cold or they left me cold or something went wrong. You see, I quickly discovered that to most young Black women, I was too different. I'm not a bragger but I was too intellectual. Many told me they found me emotionally cold. I'm not the most emotionally expressive person on the planet but I'm always polite and friendly to everyone. I respected and loved the Black women of the world. Part of me still does, and always will. My mother is a Black lady. My grandmother is a Black lady. See my point?

You have no idea what it was like to be me in those days. I kept hearing that Black women were complaining about a shortage of good Black men. Supposedly, educated, law-abiding and God-fearing Black men who cherished Black women were in short supply. Yet here I was. A tall, decent-looking brother who definitely met the criterion. Yet time after time I saw fine-looking sisters who only went out with those Black guys with the gold teeth, the pierced tongues and the low-hanging pants. Either that or they only went out with preppy white guys. Or thuggish white guys, whatever. I found myself frustrated and filled with disbelief at this state of the affairs. Suddenly I understood why so many young Black men at Carleton University were walking around with white women. Black women did not want us. They only wanted Black thugs or white guys, not decent Black men.

What's a brother to do? I thought about the interracial dating. It wasn't easy for me. I'm mainly attracted to Black women. My soul mate as I always envisioned her was a Black woman. I didn't think a white lady could relate to what I went through as a Black man living in North America. Getting angry looks from white guys when I worked as an intern in a certain corporation in downtown Ottawa. They felt threatened by an educated Black man in a sharp suit, apparently. The way clerks react to me as a Black man when I'm shopping. Oh, yeah. I didn't think a white lady could relate to that. So to me, dating a white woman was out of the question. Besides, several times white women accused Black men of sexual assault at Carleton University and it made the news. White women could get a brother in trouble very easily. I didn't need that drama. Yet I was surrounded by a lot of Black ladies who made a point to show off their white boyfriends to every Black man they ran into as if white men are some type of trophy. I believed in Black Love but Black women did not want me. I thought a white woman could never understand me or relate to what I go through so where did that leave me? Alone, apparently. I poured all my energy into school and it actually paid off. I was that Black guy practically living inside the Carleton University library, always doing homework. Either that or I was writing those poignant Black love stories which would eventually make me a household name as a Black author in North America and the United Kingdom.

Time passed.

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