This was 2007, and pro-Blackness was at an all-time high in the entertainment industry, with artists such as Lupe Fiasco, Erykah Badu, Kanye West (before he was promoting white supremacy for money), and Common leading the way.
Within a few days, I had met new friends at events on campus. Of them I ended up becoming closest with two guys named Jayvon and Cory. They were from the Bronx and had gone to high school together and decided to go to the same college.
We clicked almost instantly. Where I was from was walking distance to the Bronx, so we had that in common. But everything else just seemed to work, too: we all listened to the same types of music, were interested in reading similar books, wanted to spend hours playing NBA 2K and Call of Duty, and, most important, were all focused on growing as Black people and helping our community.
I trusted them with Blackness and found myself often learning from them, because, frankly, they had been doing this longer. Jayvon’s father was a Black Muslim and had been teaching him pro-Blackness since he was a child, and Cory’s mom was a social worker in the Bronx who made sure he understood how white supremacist systems impact Black and brown youth.
Since we were all from the same area, we had the opportunity to hang out over the holidays back home. Which meant my two worlds could potentially collide. As I already said, I wasn’t this pro-Black person in high school, so most (if not all) of my friends weren’t that way. It was bad enough trying to get my family to know a more “woke” me, let alone old friends.
I’d gone from letting people call me an Oreo to protesting on campus over the disproportionate pay of Black professors. I didn’t want my new friends to think I was a fraud.
Lucky for me, when I went home that first year, I didn’t have to figure out what to do. All of my friends from back home were unavailable during the holidays.
I later found out they were actually available, but people had been seeing my “woke content” on Facebook and decided to steer clear. It was probably for everyone’s best, anyway.
Jayvon and Cory invited me to go bowling with them and their close friend Tyler while we were home. I was excited to meet Tyler because the guys had spoken highly of him. “He just gets it,” they would say.
He was also an interesting mystery for me, because I was the only one of us on Facebook at the time, so I didn’t have any idea what Tyler looked like. But I naturally imagined he would be young and Black like us.
On the day we went bowling, Tyler messaged the guys to tell them that he and his girlfriend were running late, so we bowled a game without him.
As we got ready to bowl another game, Jayvon was looking behind us toward the door and yelled, “Yo, Tyler! Over here!”
I was immediately confused, because when I looked at the door, I didn’t see Tyler. All I saw was a tall white guy holding hands with a short, young Black woman. The two of them started walking toward us.
“What’s good, my guys! This is Denise,” the tall white guy said.
“I’ve heard a lot about all of you,” she added.
I was just standing there, flabbergasted, trying to take it all in. Not only was the close friend of my new “woke” Black friends white, but he had a Black girlfriend.
I can’t emphasize enough how surprised I was. I’m sure my jaw literally dropped.
Tyler introduced himself to me, and I shook myself out of my surprise quickly enough to respond.
I spent the next few hours trying to understand who Tyler was and what he was about. Based on my own experiences with white people, I had a hard time understanding how a white guy was the person who had protested against racism and injustice with Jayvon and Cory in high school.
I guess Cory could feel how standoffish I was while we were bowling, because he eventually came over and spoke to me in private.
“I know what you’re thinking, but he’s wild cool. We wouldn’t bring anyone around who isn’t down for us. Get to know him,” he said.
As I said, I trusted Cory and Jayvon with Blackness as a whole, and I trusted them with my Blackness even more. So I let my guard down and went over to Tyler and got to know him and Denise a bit more.
Jayvon and Cory were right; outside of being white, he was just like them—just like us. He and Denise were not only down-to-earth; they weren’t afraid to address important subjects, such as their being an interracial couple.
That day we ended up hanging out for hours. Those hours became days, and eventually over the next few months, Tyler and Denise became good friends of mine.
We spent most of our time discussing politics and race, which were often brought into the conversation by Tyler. But it was never in a pandering or problematic way.
Another thing to note was that Tyler wasn’t one of those white guys who think they are “down” by dressing in stereotypically Black things, like Jordans, and listening to rap. Like me, he was a huge soft-rock fan. Unlike me, he couldn’t dress to save his life.
After the holidays, we hung out whenever we were all in town, and sometimes they’d visit our school, and we’d visit theirs.
That summer Tyler invited us all over to his house for a pool party.
By this point, you’ve read a few chapters and understand my apprehension over going to a white person’s home for ANYTHING.
It wasn’t very difficult to decide to go. Tyler was much different from the white people I grew up with, and if anything went wrong, I had a bunch of other Black people there with me. Plus, how bad could it be if Tyler was going to be introducing Denise to his family for the first time? (They already knew she was Black.)
I decided to arrive at Tyler’s house later than everyone so someone could text me if there was anything I should be aware of. (I wasn’t taking any chances.)
But I never got any texts other than “where u at?”
When I got to Tyler’s, I could immediately tell it was different from my other visits to white homes. Tyler greeted me at the door and said, “Took you long enough!” then shoved a burger in my hands. “Here! You’re trying to get your weight up, right?”
I was pretty tall and lanky at the time, so I was trying to put some weight on. Which wasn’t easy as a broke college student, so I appreciated the free burger.
We walked into the house, and Tyler introduced me to a ton of his parents’ friends, and eventually we walked up to his parents.
“You must be Fred! Sorry, do you prefer Frederick?” his mother said.
“Whichever you like, Ms. Matthews,” I responded.
“My mother-in-law is Ms. Matthews. Just call me Marissa,” she said.
Before I could wrap my mind around how pleasant this white woman was being, Tyler’s father walked up, holding a plate of hot dogs and a spatula.
He was a huge man, who I knew from conversations with Tyler had played football in college. He was wearing a tank top and had tattoos all over. Upon further inspection, I could see he was wearing some sort of championship ring.
Needless to say, my racist senses were tingling. I fully expected him to ask what NBA team I played for or to say something equally racist. The new improved Black Power me was ready to fight and be kicked out of this house.
He looked at me for a second. What happened next is still one of the most surprising moments of my entire life.