I showed my blog to a friend, and she asked me about the picture of my family. She wondered if it was a good idea to show my race. I told her I didn’t have anything to be shame about. I don’t think being black is a hindrance, sometimes we fear ourselves into the corners of life. I grew up in a house that was very out spoken when it came to race. My father was a young boy taking my grandmother to church one Sunday when a group of white men jumped him and nearly killed him. He hid under the bushes until they gave up looking for him. So, you can imagine how hard it was for me when I figured out that I was overly attracted to white guys while I was in school. At one point I was threatened when my father found out that I was dating someone of a different race, my boyfriend at the time who was white…came over to my house and oh boy! I recall waking up that morning being told if I ever saw him again I would have a foot stuck so far up my well you get the picture.
I could live with not seeing him again, because after all I was 15 or 16. I knew better than to push the subject and further. However I recall my 9th grade year. This was a turning point for me. I think I totally began to dislike the hate around this time because of a teacher called Ms. Mixon. As some of you know who follow my blog I am the daughter of a recovering alcoholic. Because of the fights that my parents had all the time, I needed someone to talk to. I recall once telling my mother I wanted to be an archeologist, and she was like be realistic. So, I needed someone to believe in me, because I didn’t believe in myself. Ms. Mixon was that teacher. She was a white lady with long brown hair. I use to look at her hair and think how pretty it looked when it flowed! It looked like waves. Anyway, one morning after the bus had arrived at school, I was at my locker placing my books into my book bag for my first period class. One of my friends came up to me and pulled me in …wow I’m getting teary eyed talking about this…Any she pulled me into the English class that was by my locker. She told me Ms. Mixon was in a car wreck. I was like is she okay, and the English teacher was like no sweetie. She didn’t make it. I felt like my world had just ended. I went home still in tears towards the end of the day. My parents asked me why was I crying for that white lady? I grieved in private for the next days. I didn’t want them to know I was still upset. I couldn’t think of anything after that besides wanting to move away.
Four years later I fell in love with an Italian guy, and it took me a while to let him meet my parents. Finally I begged mom to talk to daddy because I missed them, and I wanted them to meet Donato! The funny thing was my parents liked him; however his mother hated me because I was black. It was a hard situation to be in. I didn’t want to come in between their relationship, and I didn’t like the fact that I would have to give up so much to be with him. He wanted me to learn Italian, and after his mother grew to like me he promised we would get married. Well, I didn’t like that plan. I didn’t like the idea of someone not liking me because I looked different. So, soon after I met my husband. This was a major turning point for me. My husband was in the Army when we met. I invited to meet my parents. I didn’t think they would mind him because he was Latin. However, I found out that they totally disliked him because he was Puerto Rican. So, here I am again…Race is playing a role in my life. I don’t know what to do. I found myself really caring about Jonathan, but my parents were at their end. My dad had the if you live her under my roof you will do what I tell you, and that means you will not see him again.
I left the next day. Three months later I got married. After we had our first child my mother found out she had hepatitis and she actually at one point thought it could have been because she was around my baby. Bless her heart she thought a healthy baby could produce hepatitis because of the mother and father being of different races. My child didn’t have anything. We don’t have hepatitis. The doctors told my mother they thought she got it from her job. It still hurt to think that she thought that for one second. So race has been an issue all my life. Even today my sister tells her daughter it’s the Santiago family vrs the Browns.
Anyway, back to the point….If race was an issue for me I wouldn’t have sold any copies of The Vampire’s Salvation. It has done really well for only being out less than two months considering I am new to self publishing and I don’t have a support system. Everyone who has downloaded a copy of The Vampire’s Salvation has been a complete stranger. I won’t live in fear of my race. I won’t let it cripple me, or scare me. I know we have great people out there. SO at the end of the day my pictures stay up. LOL