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I felt a certain pride in hanging out with people who were Dominican, Indonesian, Laos, Filipino, Hispanic, etc. My parents taught me good morals, like not judging others by their appearance, though I did have to keep my jaw clenched when I visited relatives.They would ask me about the “colored kids” at my job as a camp counselor and spoke the word “bi-racial” in hushed tones, as if it were something to be ashamed of.Where friends from home had laughed in my face, believing my taste in guys had somehow done a 180 as a result of moving to the city, black guys I currently went to school with were intrigued.
As my luck with white men plummeted, I was inevitably pushed further towards black guys.
While some people smiled at us as we held hands in D. or walked side by side around the Inner Harbor, others just stared with disapproving eyes.
The thing is, people were tolerant, but they were not always accepting.
I was running around my house in a black one piece bathing suit and remember looking down at my stomach, thinking that it stuck out too much.
I immediately sprinted outside in the daylight to get a better look and make sure I wasn’t fat.