Two days after my first visit to my husband's family home in predominantly-white Granite, a Baltimore County enclave, one of his neighbors shared with him the observation that dating a black girl would not be easy.
He knew marrying me might be even more difficult, but he did anyway, and on Nov. 20, 1992, we became a statistic.
According to the U.S. Census Bureau, black-white couples make up 246,000 of the nation's 61,500,000 marriages -- about 4 out of every 1,000 couples in America.
And while the country remains polarized by race issues, interracial couples have more than tripled in the past three decades. The total number of interracial couples in the country -- not just black and white -- has increased from 310,000 in 1970 to 1,161,000, according to a population survey taken in March 1992.
There are numerous reasons for the growth of cross-cultural marriages, but the most accurate explanations may be simplest: Times have changed -- even if racist attitudes have not -- and with the changes have come the opportunity for the races to mix and melt in various social, academic and employment environments.
And once people of different cultural backgrounds find a common ground on which to build a lasting relationship, they have the support of groups that are cropping up all over the country to give interracial couples and their families an environment in which they don't have to apologize or explain their relationships.
"Interracial people and families are assaulted with all sorts of rude and inappropriate questions from people who feel that there's nothing wrong with asking," said Rhonda Bell, the membership chairwoman for the Biracial Family Network (BFN) in Chicago. "They feel they have a right to invade your privacy."
The BFN is an affiliate of Association of MultiEthnic Americans (AMEA), a national confederation of interracial and multi-cultural groups that helps encourage interracial couples and their families to be proud of their relationships and their heritage.
Larry and I never joined any groups where interracial couples exchange war stories or share experiences, and frankly, we never discussed joining one. We always figured our relationship was simply our business, of little concern to others, and rather normal aside from the race thing.
We discovered just how interested other people were in our relationship when we participated in an interracial relationships panel four years ago at the University of Maryland College Park.
Their ignorance of interracial couples was to be expected, but what really upset me was that they thought they knew us. They sincerely believed they could categorize our relationship as easily and with as little thought as they did our races.
I was informed that I would "lose myself" by dating a white man who didn't understand "the black experience," meaning the slavery, oppression and discrimination I also never endured. Considering that up to the point I started dating Larry, much of my black experience evolved from proud black parents, jump rope rhymes and Prince videos, there was very little to understand.
If these detractors were concerned that whites cannot appreciate the rich African American heritage, they'd be surprised to hear that Larry's knowledge of and interest in some areas of "black culture," such as jazz, blues and Negro League baseball, far surpasses mine. I'm not proud of my ignorance, but he's teaching me.
They also believed that Larry could not "feel" the pain and suffering my people felt as a result of slavery and the fight for civil rights. But I submit that I cannot "feel" it either, since I was not a part of it.
We both, however, are capable of understanding the evil perpetrated against blacks through the brutality of slavery and the discrimination my people faced -- and still face -- as the struggle for equal rights continues. If you have a heart and a mind, you can understand.
Larry and I handled ourselves well on the panel, but some of the other couples participating seemed to lose their poker faces and not only conceded the hand, but forfeited the entire game to those who would question and condemn their relationship.
They could have used a group like AMEA.
"The object is to integrate a person's psyche, not to segregate it," said Ramona Douglass, a vice president and founding member of AMEA. "What we are trying to do is give people a sense of wholeness."
It is that sense of wholeness I would love to guarantee for my child, the offspring of a black woman and a white man whose love may have conquered all but the sadistic fascination society has with labeling its members.
I can take the fact the society will continue to wonder why couples like Larry and me exist, but I am petrified that my child will be asked "What are you?" and expected to answer the question as if the obvious answer isn't "a human being."
While I agree with Ms. Douglass, who said being interracial is nothing to be ashamed of, somehow I do feel ashamed when I realize that I will not be able to give my child the peace of mind that comes with "belonging" to one group or another.
Do we put "black" on our baby's birth certificate, since it's bound to share my creamy brown pigment? Or do we put white and let others believe the kid has a year-round tan? Or do we tell them to mind their own business and select "other" and let the child decide for itself when it is old enough?
Larry often says that black and white are not races, but colors used to separate and stigmatize. But sometimes I figure it's easier to play society's name game rather than go against the pressure of having people decide who you are and who you become.
"It's good to have a positive sense of self," said Ms. Bell. "But it's hard when people want to impose their racist values on you and your family."
AMEA officials are working to give the individual the choice. Representatives from the group testified last year before the House census subcommittee urging government classifications to acknowledge the right of multiracial or multi-ethnic people to correctly identify themselves.
"Every time we confront one of these forms we are faced with the awkward . . . offensive task of selecting a 'race' or 'ethnicity' which does not truly identify us," said AMEA President Carlos Fernandez in an interview with USA Today shortly after the congressional hearing.
AMEA is also working to have the Clinton administration change Office of Management and Budget Directive 15, the federal regulation that affects federal, state and local racial classifications, including those used in public schools.
"What we are working on is forging an identity that goes beyond the traditional two sides," said Edwin Darden, a former vice-president of AMEA and past president of the Interracial Family Circle of Washington. "They [biracial or multicultural people] can find a comfortable place in society, but it doesn't have to be one of the choices given."
Given the choice, it looks as though people are ready to embrace their multiple heritages, rather than let society dictate who they should be.
Each of AMEA's 14 national affiliates is a separate multi-ethnic social group catering to people in Atlanta, Buffalo, Houston, Norfolk, San Diego, and Seattle. Groups for people involved in interracial or multiethnic relationships in Boston, New York and Kansas City, Mo., are in the process of becoming part of AMEA's network.
And younger people, often associated closely with changing the societal climate with their ideas, have started organizations for multi-ethnic students on college campuses nationwide that stress the importance of identifying and celebrating their diverse heritages.
There have been times in the not-so-distant past where an interracial support system such as AMEA would have been of invaluable use.
No one threw rice for Richard and Mildred Loving, the interracial Virginia couple whose marriage in 1958 was followed by their immediate arrest for breaking the state's anti-miscegenation laws. They later made headlines and history when the Supreme Court used their case to strike down all laws prohibiting interracial marriages.
And though the laws supported the 1968 marriage of Betty and George Merrill, an interracial couple featured in a Sun article last year, some of their family members did not. They wed in the Baltimore City Courthouse with little fanfare or encouragement, and waited until their 25th anniversary, Dec. 5, 1993, to be surrounded by supportive family and friends in the formal church wedding they had always wanted.
Thank goodness Larry and I started dating in 1989, at a time when the P.C. police would have condemned anyone who -- publicly -- opposed our union. Relationships like ours provided fodder for Montel, Oprah, Sally Jessy, and all the other talk show hosts who exploit interracial relationships for ratings while professing to open the public eye.
Two years later, when we decided to marry, we found encouragement from our immediate families and little opposition beyond that. The few people who didn't support our relationship showed their disapproval by turning down our wedding invitation, which saved them some grief and us some money.
But the larger picture shows that some couples do lose more than money and friends when they love outside the color lines.
Many people feel that the way to solve this country's racial problems is to celebrate our common bond as Americans rather than embrace our cultural differences. To them, unity means not expressing racial pride. For interracial families and people, neither can be done without compromising their heritage.
I am so secure in my identity that I can share my culture with someone whose heritage is different. And we are so confident in what we feel that we can pass the entire package on to our child -- with love, respect and pride.
L He won't need one culture or the other. He will have it all.
"Society seems to believe that if you are multiethnic you should belong to one group or another," said Ms. Douglass, a past president of BFN. Her mother is Sicilian and father is Lakota Indian and African American.
"I say it is time to say to them: 'I am not who you perceive me to be. I am who I define myself to be.' "
Traci A. Johnson is married to Larry R. Mathena Jr., a civil engineer for the U.S. Army Corps of Engineers. She is a staff writer for the Sun's Carroll County bureau.