time. We could go to a baby shower and still have fun, and
we went to that kind of stuff all the time. He was dope.
But that’s not why I dated him. To be honest, I dated him
for racist reasons.
I dated him because he was white. At least, I thought he
was. I didn’t ask him, I just assumed.
I found out the truth when he went in for surgery on a
torn rotator cuĉ. I went with him to the hospital to help
him afterwards, because I’m a good girlfriend. When he was
asleep, I wanted to see if we was healthy—you know,
because we’d been hooking up without a condom for a
while.
So I went through his charts, and right there, plain as day
on his blood test, it said he’s African-American. I went up
to the nurse, all confused.
Tiffany: “He’s not African-American. Why y’all got
this on here? He came in here with me, I know him.”Nurse: “No, that’s his chart. That’s what it says.”I got sad, because I really thought I was dating a white
man. When he woke up, I gently broached the subject:
Tiffany: “You black?!?!”Old Boyfriend: “I don’t normally talk about it.”He didn’t know his mom. He was raised by his white,
English father in London. When he asked his dad about his