Dream on, Lady

I met my perfect man, in my dreams. He had dark hair, strong arms and was confident. He was so handsome to everyone but only there for me. He took me to a baseball game in a big city I had never been before. The simple surrounded by the fascinating. We had beer and popcorn. He never left my side and I was the most important thing in the universe. And the universe it was. The night sky was above, just us and the stars. He was possessive but in a good way.

Later we went to his condo. There was a small party, we laughed the rest of the night on the patio over wine and berries he picked himself. The night was amazing.
And how do I know he was perfect? Because, he was Native.
I can’t see myself with anyone that wouldn’t understand why we have to get up in the middle of the night to put more wood in the fire. Or that wouldn’t understand why everyday is a struggle. Or understand why I carry tobacco in my purse and randomly sprinkle it out. Or why I will always love those who make mistakes because of alcohol.

A friend asked me how I could know this man existed and why would I hold myself out for him. “You shouldn’t limit yourself to one race.”

I was then told I was racist because I chose to be with Native and Native only. No, it is a preference. I want my children to be surrounded by the beliefs that my unity with their father could only bring. I was really hurt by the thought that because of my dream that I was racist. I believe we should all be treated equal but I cannot fathom having children with someone that their beliefs were not my own. I am not racist. I am real.