It had been four years since my loving relationship with ebony-toned Vera ended, but I’d not gotten over her. Though lonely for a woman’s touch, I hadn’t thought of entering another relationship—especially with a White female. Sandy, on the other hand, was curiously interested in coming to know me. She was a pretty, blonde-haired, blue-eyed young lady with an alluring personality. Despite gentle dissuasion, we soon became more than friends. As the months passed, her desire for deeper commitment grew, but so did my preference to be with an African American woman. She didn’t understand the actual reasons for my relationship abstention—perhaps with my years of identity confusion, I didn’t either. Nevertheless, it was difficult to comprehend her attraction to me. Our worlds were so different; she was highly motivated, focused, and future-conscious, whereas I lived day-to-day, seemingly content doing so. Countless young men would have been a far better match for her, and, equally important, a young man her parents would have approved of. I could imagine their reaction to my oversized Afro, beard, occupation, and African American heritage. Surely not the male image they envisioned for their daughter.