Black Women are Perfect

I hear a lot of negative talk about Black men in the United States of America, and a lot of it comes from Black women. Why is that? I mean, seriously. Sometimes I feel like the moment I bring up the subject of relationships between Black men and Black women, I'm stepping into a minefield. There seems to be an undeclared war between Black men and Black women living in the United States of America. And that is such a shame. Considering the many problems facing today's African-American community, you'd think everyone would realize the importance of banding together. It doesn't have to be this way. I know lots of Black men still love Black women. And plenty of Black women still love their Black men. We need to stick together.

My name is Alexander Henderson Pierre. A six-foot-one, big and handsome young brother. Son of James and Alexandra Pierre of Brockton, Massachusetts. My father is a sergeant with the Massachusetts State Police. My mother is a professor of literature at the University of Massachusetts in Boston. My older brother Carl is a sophomore at the Massachusetts Maritime Academy and our elder sister Rebecca is a senior at Pine Manor College. We live in a nice house in Brockton's quietly affluent West Side. Just a family of hard-working Haitian-Americans living in America. I'm very proud of my family. Every Saturday, come what may, we all go to church together. We're Adventist, just so you know. And we attend Brockton Temple, the local Haitian-American Seventh-Day Adventist Church.

I grew up in a lovely home with a loving family. My parents are absolutely dedicating to ensuring my siblings well-being. And I couldn't be prouder of them. We're just an easygoing middle-class Black family. Believe it or not, the Black middle class is not a myth. In fact, we're growing, even in the Recession. When my parents bought our two-story, four-bedroom house on Mash Street in 1999, we were one of two Black families in an upscale, all-white neighborhood. Ten years later, the neighborhood is a lot more diverse. My friend Hector Ramirez moved in with his parents and sister three years ago. They own a trucking company. And my newest friend, tax lawyer Nadira Abdullah, who originates from Saudi Arabia, moved in with her husband Mohammed and their son Malik last summer. With Blacks, Hispanics and Middle-Easterners in the neighborhood, one of Brockton's priciest ( and whitest ) streets is finally diversifying. People of color can accomplish great things when given the chance.

Those are my friends and neighbors, my definition of normal. Presently, I attend Bay State College in downtown Boston. It's a private school well-known for its racial diversity. My cousin Steve went there from 2003 to 2005. He graduated with a degree in criminal justice before heading to Suffolk University. So far, I like Bay State College. The students are a friendly bunch. And I love the fact that there are lots of African-American, Hispanic and Asian students on campus. A lot of these students come from Brockton. I ran into my old friend Richard Guillot, a tall young Black man I met during my first day at Brockton Community High School, so long ago. Like me, Richard comes from a deeply conservative Haitian-American family. His mother Jenny's an accountant and his father Paul is a corrections officer. I was glad to run into someone I know.

Richard and I both major in criminal justice and wanted to follow in the footsteps of our respective fathers. Working in law enforcement appeals to me. We need more Black people driving squad cars instead of sitting in the back of them. That's the kind of change this brother can believe in. My sister Rebecca wants to go into politics. She's got republican tendencies and we don't get along all that well. I think she's going to end up working for Fox News but don't quote me on that. Rebecca is starting to remind me of Condi Rice, folks. She's constantly criticizing President Obama's policies and decisions. This is where we differ. I'm a total fan of our forty-fourth President. He's an inspiration to me and scores of other young Black men living in the United States of America. Amen to that and thank God for this man.

At Bay State College, I busied myself with my studies. Taking five classes per semester. I commute to Boston from Brockton. Living on campus would be too expensive, even though I'm on financial aid. Every morning, I walk from the west side to the Brockton Area Transit. I get on the Number Twelve bus to Ashmont and then hop on the Red Line Train to Park Street. I get out at Park Street and hop onto the Green Line, which takes me to Copley Square. That's my last stop. From there, the Bay State College campus is only a few blocks away. I like my classes. Take my Intro to Criminal Justice Class for example. There are twenty four students in the class. Five Black males, two Hispanic dudes, three Asian guys, three Black chicks and nine White students. Our professor is a tall, nice-looking but stern Black woman in her mid-forties. Now that's what I call collegiate diversity. How about that?

One of the sharpest students in my class is this tall, good-looking young Black woman named Marguerite Roseau. This gal is absolutely fine, folks. She's got a cute face, athletic body and big round booty. Pardon my French. I was definitely attracted to her. I see a lot of pretty young women of all hues in my native city of Brockton. Hell, people of color ( mainly African-American, Hispanic, Cape Verdean or Asian) make up more than half of Brockton's population. I'm not the type of brother who's easily impressed by a pretty face, a hot body or a big butt. I like a woman with a brain. And Marguerite definitely had brains. During a class discussion on racial profiling, she effectively destroyed the argument of Michelle, a blonde-haired white chick who insisted that Black people overreacted to incidents of police misconduct. Man, watching Marguerite slyly turn Michelle's arguments against her was something else. A tour de force, if I dare say so. I'm the son of a Black policeman and I know racial profiling exists. Police officers along with store clerks and security people are always giving funny looks to Black men they see walking around. Racism is alive and well in America. This much I know is true.

I was impressed by Marguerite's intelligence and the strength of her convictions. I decided to get to know her better. I love Black women, especially Haitian women. Women of other races are fine but I love the homegrown beauties of the Black community. Give me a sexy young Black woman with a cute face, curvy body and big booty over a skinny white chick any day. Marguerite was definitely my kind of woman. Unfortunately, almost every Black guy on campus had the same idea. I found out a bit more about her. Marguerite was the daughter of District Court Judge Mario Roseau. And her mother was real estate agent Isabelle Martin Roseau, a gorgeous woman of African and Hispanic descent. Yeah, this gal hailed from an impressive family. She was a true BAP. Black American Princess. I've never been what you'd call a player. How in hell did I get with her?

Sometimes, you succeed without really trying. That's all I can say. I was sitting in the campus library, typing up a Sociology paper about the economy's effect on Boston's diverse population. What I found out on the web wasn't promising. Everyone in Boston is suffering, from the Irish and the Italians to the African-Americans, Asians and Hispanics. The city's public school system also needed some major help. Naturally, the local politicians, including the Mayor, only cared during election years. I was totally engrossed on my assignment. So much that I didn't see the sexiest Black woman on campus sidle up to me. I felt someone's hand on my shoulder. I turned around smiling, thinking it was my buddy Richard. He was supposed to meet me at the library so he could help me with my Calculus homework. He's a math whiz. I do okay in math but it's never been my forte. The person who greeted me with a bright smile definitely wasn't my buddy Richard. Not unless Richard morphed into a five-foot-ten, brown-skinned and long-haired Haitian-American beauty. None other than Marguerite Roseau.

I smiled at her and said hello. Grinning, she pulled up a chair and asked me how I was doing. We started talking, and believe it or not, she helped me with my assignment. Marguerite was born and raised in Boston. Her father owned a townhouse in the Back Bay, one of Boston's priciest neighborhoods. Her knowledge about the city's various ethnic groups and their unique issues was nothing short of extensive. The gal was sharp. I was impressed. Marguerite was even better-looking up close. She looked like the perfect Black woman, folks. The face of singer Alicia Keys, the angelic eyes of model Drew Sidora, the body ( and booty ) of professional tennis player Serena Williams and the grace of actress/songbird Beyonce Knowles. Hot damn. We talked and talked for two hours straight. I finished my assignment, and walked Marguerite to her next class. Lo and behold, her next class happened to be my next class. That day, we sat close together. And before class ended, she "accidentally" scribbled her cell phone number in my textbook. Am I lucky or what?

When I went home that night, I was eager to do four things. One, remember to thank God that the hottest Black woman on campus liked me. Two, tell my buddy Richard all about it. Three, dial up Marguerite and chat her up. Four, tell all my friends on Facebook who my future wife's going to be. Okay, I might be getting ahead of myself here. I called Richard first. He was busy watching Supernatural on TV. I don't know why he likes that show. Everyone knows Smallville is way better. Once he got over the shock that I actually had the guts to chat up a hot gal I liked, he bombarded me with good advice. I called Marguerite, and she was pleasantly surprised to hear from me so quickly. We talked for ages that night. Discussing life as young Haitian-Americans in a changing America. I went to sleep that night with a big grin on my face. My parents knew something was up because they teased me endlessly. They had guessed there was a young lady in the picture but I refused to divulge more.

That's my first semester at Bay State College so far, folks. I'm going out with the hottest gal on campus. She's smart, sexy, and she seems to really like me. The other brothers on campus are hating but I ignore them. I'm doing really well in all of my classes, including math, partly because my new girlfriend, a former valedictorian, is helping me out. I'll let you guess how she rewards me when I ace a test. Yeah, I'm doing alright. Seriously. Life couldn't be better. I thank God for His blessings.