Lessons I Learned from Dating (and subsequently marrying) an Old, Black Man.

 Hi SR Peeps!!  I’m CatasTrophy Wife and I’m honored to do a guest post on SR!

I recently started blogging about my weird, non-traditional life and SR and I thought it would be fun(?) to have me post about what it’s like to be married to an old, black man.  I put together some of the little things I’ve learned in the past 8+ years I’ve been with G.  Hope you enjoy it (and that I don’t offend you…too much).

 First, a little background:  I was born in 1979…late 1979, so I am 31.  I grew up in the Pacific Northwest in a pretty non-diverse (read: white) social circle.  This is me and my brother and sister…probably around 1984 (I’m the one on the right).

There were probably 2 or 3 black kids in my high school of 1800 students (none were my friends…sad, I know).  I attended a private university for college where there was one black kid, but I think he was only half-black (and not my friend).  The point is that I didn’t know ANY black people until I moved to L.A. for law school…I was 21.  Now, let’s meet my husband, George.  He likes to take pictures like this:

George (aka G) was born in 1961…yes, 1961.  Look at his baby picture!!!

That is one old picture!  He turned 50 in April.  George grew up in Chicago and lived there until he was 15, then he moved to L.A. and lived there until his followed his wife-to-be to the Pacific NW (I’m pretty sure he regrets that decision).   Okay, that’s enough of the background information…now to the lessons:

Lesson #1 – I will never win the “I had the most difficult childhood” game.

When your husband was a member of the first black family to move into a white neighborhood in the 1970s, you can’t really complain about your mom loving your brother and sister more than you.  When your husband tells you he was chased home from school by white kids, you can’t say you hated this girl in grade school because she had more slap bracelets than you.  Yes, G grew up during the Civil Rights Movement and this seriously BLOWS my mind!

However, this doesn’t prevent me (or him) from making really inappropriate comments about race.  Like when we’re driving around, I like to tell him that if I get pulled over, I will tell the officer that he carjacked me.  He doesn’t think it’s very funny.  But I die laughing. Every. Single. Time.

At times, I do worry that G will cause “white flight” or that a cross might be burned in our front yard…but so far, so good.  Also, G likes to thank Rosa Parks when we’re on a bus and he doesn’t have to ride in the back.

Lesson #2 – G’s idea of “going out” clothes is much different than mine.

I think it is pretty common that as a person gets older, his style will stay relatively the same.   I’ve really tried to update G’s clothes…I mean, what would I do if G still dressed like this?

Seriously.  When writing this post, G told me this shirt was “fly” in ’87.  OMG, he still thinks he looks totally cool in that picture.

But back to G’s style.  Sometimes G forgets that it’s 2011 and he pulls this out of his closet:

He will not throw this shirt out.  And he spent a good 5 minutes admiring the shirt when I had him put it on to take this picture.  What makes it worse is that I have pictures of him wearing the same shirt in the 1990s:

And we recently found this gem in his closet:

This shirt is silk and I’m pretty sure G could have been an extra on The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air.  I’ve learned to NEVER let G pick out something to wear that he believes is nice.

Lesson #3 – One of us is always the minority

As a white girl married to a black guy, one of us is always the minority.  Because we live near my family in the Pacific Northwest, G is usually the one who’s the minority.

But occasionally, the tables are turned and I’m the one that stands out.

When I’m the minority with a big group of G’s family, I like to watch other people watching me.  Usually, they can’t quite figure out where I belong (or who I’m with).  I don’t really care because I’m just glad people are looking at me! 

Lesson #4 – You might end up with a “child” that is the same age as you.

Yes, I have a step-son that’s 26 years old.

And yes, it is a little weird.  What I hate is that he thinks I’m really old because I married his dad.  I spend most of my time trying to convince him that I am NOT 50 years old…I don’t think he’s convinced (maybe I should stop eating dinner at 4:30 pm and going to bed at 9:00 pm, hmm).

All right, so that ends my lessons for today.  There are many more, but I’m pretty sure you are all tired of reading my nonsense.  If you’d like any advice on dating (or marrying) an old, black man, you probably shouldn’t ask me…I tried to kill G on his birthday by making him jump out of a plane.

 So…. who takes more pictures of themselves, me or G??  Thanks CTW for the guest post; go check out her funnny, say-it-like-is blog where G can give your man some fashion tips.

**If you wanna check out my first guest poster, she lost 100 pounds in a year!

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