(Opinion Article Submitted by a follower of 1776 Analysis)

I used to always say I was “color blind.” For heaven’s sake, I married a black man. My daughter is half black. But as well-intentioned as I was saying that I was color blind, I realize now that being color blind is dangerous. I think of my husband as a big teddy bear. An incredible father. A wonderful son. The most amazing husband. Surely nobody would be “threatened” by him. However, he’s also a 6’5” black man. Those who don’t know him, might decide, based solely on his appearance, that he is intimidating or threatening. I hadn’t considered that very much until recently, when I got a very serious educational lesson from the man I love.

We recently moved far from the small college town where we essentially grew up. We went to college there and then worked there for 6 years. I used to joke that my husband was sort of a celebrity there. He’s outgoing and everyone knew him. We couldn’t go to the grocery store without having to stop to talk to at least six people. Literally, a trip to get a gallon of milk could take an hour. But I felt safe. I very rarely, if ever, thought about the color of his skin.

Fast forward and we now live in a whole new state, all the way across the country. We’re working on getting healthier and my husband goes for a run every day. For a while, he was wearing a head covering (like a hood on a jacket) that covered his ears, but not his face, to keep his air pods in his ears while he ran. I’m ashamed to say, that one day I looked out the window and saw him running (right after Ahmad Arbery was killed) and something I hadn’t really felt before hit me like a blow to the stomach. Fear. It was like all of a sudden my entire world shifted. I realized that the man I loved could be unsafe in this world, not because of his head covering and hat, or because he was wearing black clothing, but because his skin was black. I panicked.

That very day, he came inside from his run and I said “I need you to not wear that hoodie thing on your head when you run. And I need you to not wear black clothing when you run. And I need you to stay around here when you run.” Embarrassingly, I had decided that I wanted him to look as innocent and friendly as possible, as if a blue shirt instead of a black one would change someone’s perception of him. My husband sort of chuckled at my requests. I said, “I’m serious. We’re not in the town where we spent most of our adult lives. We don’t know people here. I don’t want something terrible to happen to you.” My sweet husband looked right at me and said, “ I don’t mean this to be offensive at all, so please don’t take it that way. But what you’re feeling now, I’ve felt my whole life. Sure, it wasn’t bad where we lived before, but there’s always a chance I could get pulled over by a cop I didn’t know. It’s always in the back of my head when I’m driving. And why do you think I say ‘hi’ to everyone I see when I’m running. I want them to get to know my face. Why do you think I only run in a square around the block. Our neighbors are used to me.”

Before this conversation I was “color blind.” I used to think I could deal with racism because it would likely just be heckling from people who didn’t like seeing a white woman with a black man. I used to say it’s us against the world and we can face whatever racist people throw at us. But it’s not us against the world. I want it to be. I really do. But really it’s him against the world. I was too naive to think that racism might throw murder at us.

Our daughter is half black, but even women aren’t safe from racial injustice. When my husband was done talking to me that day, I said “I’m so sorry that you have to live like that. Even if you’re not living in fear, you feel like you have to adjust your behavior because of your skin color. I’m so sorry. And I’m so sorry I didn’t realize it on this level.” And then my heart broke all the way in half as he said to me “I’m used to it. And if we have a son one day, I’ll teach him what I have learned about how to appear less menacing or threatening.” My husband, the kindest man I know, is going to have to teach our children how to navigate a world that may or may not accept them. May or may not fear them. My heart hurt so badly when I realized what it must be like to live in fear, at no fault of your own.

So I guess what I’m saying is, it’s nice to be “color blind.” I’m so glad that you don’t treat people of other races differently or look down upon them. Honestly, I am. But that also means that you don’t see the fear our fellow humans live with. The pain they experience. Unfortunately, it’s not enough to treat them equally, because they carry a burden far heavier than ours because of the color of their skin. I can’t change their fear and pain. I really don’t know what I can do to change something that has sadly, been part of our country forever. But what I can do is acknowledge how different life is for our fellow humans and protect them whenever possible.

If you think racism doesn’t affect your life, if you’re my friend, it does. Because it affects mine. And if you’re not my friend, I can guarantee it affects someone you know. I’m sorry that I never really understood the depth of racism before and I’m certain I never really will, but I’m grateful to learn and find ways to support those I love. Not talking about it doesn’t make it go away. And talking about it doesn’t make you sound stupid. It gives you an opportunity to learn.

So learn. For men like my husband.