The hub spent sometime with a distant, physically and genealogically, cousin last night. This guy’s grandfather is the brother or my husband’s grandmother. The grandfather, a Berber like everyone else in the family–up until then–married an Arab woman whose family was entirely Arab–also up until then. I knew the hub’s, and subsequently our children’s, family was Berber, but I failed to know just how much Berber they were. I had mistakenly thought that this great nation which is heralded as being so rich in diversity and culture would be more racially merged than my newbie nation, which ironically likes to define its self as post-racial. Well, some of the citizens do anyways.
So this led me to think about my people. I imagined my grandmother’s sister Marie, or maybe Bernadette, marrying an African-American man way back in the 1920’s. I nearly fell over laughing thinking about. Though really it’s not so funny. Kind of frightening to think about it too hard. Still, I don’t know of any of my aunts or uncles being married to anyone other than white people. Or my cousins either. Or any of those white faces filling my family albums and geneology site pages.
Don’t get it twisted, I’m not patting myself on my back for doing something great just by marrying this guy who I liked so much–or patting him either since it seems he is the only one since his great-uncle who has married other than their own and of course this is quite different to marry a White American.
I’m just marking the pace around here. And noting my own privilege to not have even considered these things before.