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In 1998, I experienced my "woke moment." On a 5-hour flight between Toronto and Bridgetown, I found myself stuck on a plane with no in-flight movie and a dead Sony Walkman in my backpack.

But something in me just knew he didn't marry a sister. My body showed no reaction to my inner pinch, but the sting was there, quiet like a mosquito under a summer dress. Did the reality of his relationship somehow diminish his soul's credibility? One could easily dispel the wince as racist or separatist, but that's not how I was brought up. I was taught that every man should be judged by his deeds and not his color, and I firmly stand where my grandmother left me.One thing I've come to understand, through my own relationship, is that for people who are really working at commitment, a relationship quickly ceases to be a political statement.There is certainly part of me that feels my partnership with a black woman says something about me. The problem is that no committed person goes to bed with black spouse or a white spouse.They go to bed with someone who does, or doesn't, think it's a bad idea to blow the rent-check on school clothes.They go to bed with someone who does, or doesn't, think it's a priority to keep the living room clean.