Love is homemade too

"Michelle has a crush on a little Black kid!"

He was so beautiful. I had fallen for his heart and soul as much as his outside appearance. He was kind, quiet, caring, fair, loving, and oh so gorgeous haha. We were in 8th grade now. He never reciprocated my crush but he had never been mean about it. He still talked to me, said hi when he'd see me and ask for my help in class. Every day I went to school, I couldn't wait to see him! I would pray he needed my help so I could sit up close to him and have an actual conversation. I daydreamed about his hugs and his eyes looking into mine. I was only 12 years old but this was love, I swore it! He had a twin brother but they were complete opposites. His brother was sporty and more outgoing than he was. His calm demeanour was definitely one of the things that attracted me to him. This was our last year together. We would be going off to high school next year and never see each other again.

"Oh no... Why him?" she says with disgust shining bright on her wrinkled face. "I have nothing against him, he's a nice kid but why a Black kid? Why can't you have a crush on a White kid?" she added like I could choose who I loved. Like he and I were in two different worlds marked by an invisible line. Why not a "Black" kid? I thought.

My parents were always very vocal in our home about their dislike for people of colour. Immigrants, they called them like they didn't belong here. My dad grew up in the countryside and my mom was a city girl. I don't know when their hatred was created but I have a feeling it was some time in their childhood voiced by their own parents. Now, they were voicing that same hate onto my brother and me. I didn't understand. They were people just like us.

"They're all the same! Bunch of trouble they are!" they would say. A heavy statement categorizing all people of colour into one box. When I would push for more answers, they would bring up our neighbours and how loud and ignorant they were.

It made my mind twirl back around to a memory I will never forget.

I was swimming in our small backyard pool with my brother. I was wearing a bikini despite the fact that I wasn't a thin child. I was young therefore it wasn't even a thought. I liked the swimsuit. I was having fun going underwater and swimming in circles when my neighbours' back door opened and I heard laughs. A young Black girl stood in the frame looking at me; laughing. She made fun of me with no care in the world. Lost in the memory, I frowned wanting to agree with my parents' statement but I couldn't. That girl's ignorance wasn't because she was Black, it was because of her personality. It was because she had been bullied or maybe she was unhappy in the home. Or, maybe she was just an asshole like any other asshole White kid I had come across before. If I could connect those dots, why couldn't my parents? Were they struggling internally that caused them to hate so easily?

It was hard growing up in a house filled with hate. It was too easy to jump in with them and point fingers. Too easy to hate too. It was also hard because it felt like I was living with four parents. My parents were very two-faced when it came to coloured people. Out there they were civil, polite, charming, and accepting but behind closed doors, there were no limits to the foul words they would use to describe other humans. That's who they were to me, humans. I didn't see what my parents saw. I saw people with hearts and souls. Sure, some of those humans were rude and arrogant but all humans had the capability of those flaws.

I had a crush on that kid for 3 years. He was my first and my last. I think, as much as I tried to separate myself from my parents' disgusting beliefs, it affected me subconsciously. I never once had a crush on a person of colour after my childhood first crush. Where I once admired their diversity and rich coloured skin, beautiful smiles and piercing brown eyes, I found myself swearing I would never get into a relationship with a Black man. Why? What changed from when I was a kid and when I was grown up?

My parents happened. Their opinions, their lies, and their hate consumed me and I hadn't even realized. I too had compartmentalized these people into a box I would never open without reason other than the colour of their skin and the false belief that their skin tone defined their souls.

When I was born, I knew nothing about hate and judgements. I knew nothing about rejecting people based on things they couldn't change like the skin they were born with. I knew nothing about seeing different people under different lenses based on the outside of their bodies. I knew nothing about attaching good or bad opinions to people based on the darkness of their homes.

No, I knew nothing, until I was taught.

I am an adult now. I have seen first-hand how hate is created, passed down, and kept alive if not healed. If not reflected and corrected. Hate is homemade but so is healing. I have taken responsibility for correcting my mind and my beliefs.

I am also a mom now and the only thing I am homemaking is LOVE.

When my children were born, they knew nothing of hate and they will continue to know nothing because love is what keeps this world healthy. My childhood and their childhood look very different because I made the conscious choice to admit that I was wrong and correct my thoughts. I made the choice to break my generational curses instead of keeping that poison alive in the next generation.

I can only hope that my girls keep our homemade love alive as strongly as my parents kept their hate alive.