It's a shock to your system when you first get to Minnesota--the number of interracial couples who live here.

Now don't get me wrong--let me start by saying I love white people (I love it when racist white folks do that--"I love black people--I have black friends.)  I have white friends--used to date a white guy--one of my son's god fathers is a white.  When I got married--more than half of the guests who were there were white--my momma thought she was in the wrong church when she walked down the aisle to take her seat on the front row.

Me and my husband--we don't see color (unless it sees us first) we see people who are friendly and we just attach ourselves to them. 

OK--that's my disclaimer--so I get to Minnesota--and I see all these interracial couples--black men and white women. It's an epidemic here. Every black man--I swear got a white woman that he's married to or a white woman he's dating.  It is rare for us if we're out and about to see another black couple! We almost want to celebrate--we be waving and going to introduce ourselves--making plans to hang out at each others houses.  That's how RARE it is!

And it ain't just the well-to-do brothers that got the OJ Simpson fever--even the crack heads got white women.  They take 'em, clean 'em up, put 'em in rehab--and if all else fails and them jokers don't get off the pipe--hell his woman takes the stance of "if you can't beat 'em, join 'em."

It's the craziest thing for somebody from the south to come up here and see the "trend"--but here, it's a way of life.

The funniest thing for us though was when we'd go to the mall or out to the park or something and see all the white girls pushing strollers with their little toddlers inside.  Shawn and I would see 'em walking--and we were dying to know if the baby was all the way white--or if it was an OJ Simpson remix.  So we'd run past the stroller and turn around to see what was popping off.  And sure enough, nine times out of nine--the white woman had a little chocolate bundle of joy in her push-cart.

We call that doing a "stroller check"--we wanna check to see what's inside that stroller.

In fact--some weekends when it was freezing cold and we could do nothing except go to the mall--cause it would cause frost-bite to do anything else--we'd go to the mall and stand around to check strollers. 

It'd be so funny too--cause the whitest of white women--whiter than Elisabeth Taylor and Brooke Shields would have a baby blacker than Wesley Snipes in that baby stroller. 

But even more hilarious were the grandparents. You'd see two old folks--just out downtown for a stroll--they'd be pushing that carriage and you peek inside--little Gary Coleman looking back up at you like "What you talkin' bout Willis?".

Back when we were single--we'd just stand there, watch and make jokes. Now that we got Andrew--the folks come up to us and wanna talk.  They see we got a stroller now and we got something in common. So like the other day I was at Nordstrom Rack with Andrew--looking for some shoes with Shawn's credit card--when I was supposed to be at Toys R Us buying new developmental toys for Andrew--when a white mom came strolling by.  

I couldn't resist the urge to peek in and take a look at what was inside.  She saw me and peeked in my stroller and smiled, "Oh you got a beautiful boy.  He's so pretty." she said.  
"Thanks!" I replied, "And your little girl--she--she must look just like her daddy."
"Yeah!" the mom said, "she has Dontraveon's nose and lips and my eyes and hair."