Forty-eight years ago the highest court in the land struck down the ban in sixteen remaining states against interracial marriages.
Forty-eight years ago nine justices established a precedent for future generations, an acknowledgment that all are created equal and should be able to love equally.
Forty-eight years ago the American public was given eyes to see all persons as the Creator sees them: loved and lovable, for every skin color under the rainbow.
Forty-eight years ago, the court’s decision in Loving v. Virginia made it okay for me to marry my husband.
Because I can’t imagine a life without this – without him – in it…
Or without the one who recently discovered the joys of the sandbox:
I can’t imagine a life without nightly dance parties, and I can’t imagine not knowing the simple goodness of fried chicken and grits, salmon and asparagus. I can’t imagine a partner who believes in me and cheers me on and encourages me to pursue my dreams like he does, just as I can’t imagine a person more better suited to me.
I can’t imagine a world without his quirks and mannerisms: without the eye mask he wears to bed, without the stacks of papers he saves, without the research he does before purchasing anything. I can’t imagine my days without the one whose antics drive me up the wall, but whose willingness to fight for our relationship, for us, takes my breath away.
I can’t imagine life without him.
For me – and for every one of you who find yourself in relationship with the one your heart can’t help but love – it’s not about the color of his skin. Sure, when I look at my husband, I see his chocolate brown outside, that perfect hue of brown that makes me melt. I may call him the HBH (Hot Black Husband) on the blog, but all of that is just surface. It’s all just icing on the cake. Because when I look at him this is what I see:
Father. Husband. Friend.
One who accepts people for who they are better than I’ll ever do.
Deep belly laugher at Real Husbands of Hollywood and The Unbreakable Kimmie Schmidt alike.
A man who is committed to being the best version of himself.
A learner, a studier, a worshipper of God.
And maybe, forty-eight years ago when the decision was reached, it came from hearing stories of Life Together, of another normal, everyday relationship between two people who love each other and every day, over and over again, choose each other.
Maybe it came from realizing that it’s not the outside, but the inside that counts.
And to that and with that, we say cheers.
To Loving Day!
Are you in an interracial relationship? Tell me YOUR story! Also, head on over to A Life With Subtitles, to read more stories of cross-cultural relationships (and to learn about how the HBH and I met!)