I don’t let them approach me. I approach them. And when we talk, I’m charming and sweet. Not in a fake way. Like all those white chicks I meet in ...merica. But in a real way. The Black men can tell, and they appreciate it. I’m honest with them. And I honestly want to get to know them better. Oh, and when we go out, I insist on either paying myself or going Dutch. I don’t treat the Black man as my personal bank account. A lot of Black women have a BAP complex. They see themselves as Black. We sat and Roz served us with a nice meal of chicken and vegetables.We sat and ate and Debby told her mother about her day at work, Roz did the same. I was not interrogated much at all, thankfully. Debby and I were sent into the living room to await dessert. I looked around the living room and noticed a photo of a young soldier on the window cill. I picked it up. ‘Is this your brother?’ I asked. ‘No,’ said Debby, ‘he was my dad. He died before I was born.’ ‘Oh God Debby,’ I said softly, ‘I am. More

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