An Open Letter to the Racist Guy Who Thought I Wasn’t Good Enough for His Son

How Do You Like Me Now?

Photo by Jakob Owens on Unsplash

Dear Racist Guy,

Remember me? It’s been a long time. Over 30 years, in fact. I remember you. You made quite an impression on me. I was 16 and dating your son.

I remember how nice you were to me in the beginning. You smiled as you told me how lucky your son was to have a girlfriend like me, so pretty and smart, with a good head on my shoulders. You even compared me to your precious daughter. You often asked me about school and my future plans as your son and I munched on snacks in your living room.

Then, suddenly, it all changed. I wasn’t welcome at your house anymore. You didn’t want me seeing your son. I remember asking you why. I skipped my first afternoon class to call and confront you. You mumbled something about it being nothing personal and a simple matter of us getting too serious too quickly.

You may or may not know this, but I spent countless nights in tears wondering what I did wrong to make you flip the switch like that. I racked my brain, pouring over every interaction we’d ever had in my mind for possible faux pas on my part. I could find none.

Then the lightbulb came on. As I retraced every word I said to you, every second I was ever…