My Little and Big Arabs (Eh-Rabs)

Last night at bed time it occurred to me that all of John's friends have "mixed race" babies (and those who don't have babies yet will eventually fit in to this category as well). I guess *this* is a sign of what the future holds. Maybe a time when "race" isn't even in the dictionary anymore? It is after all, a made up concept. Genetically, race does not exist. But, I have to tell you, mixed-babies sure are cute and I wouldn't give up my little (or my big) Arab for the world.

I am not surprised that I married a person from a different culture than my own (do I even really have a culture? I am a mix of many things. Is that what defines Canadian cultures?). I have always been attracted to dark, strange men. But, I have to admit that I am slightly surprised that I chose a person who is Lebanese. Why? Well, my first experience with a Lebanese happened in 3rd year University and it was far from positive. I was the Residence Assistant (RA) in the Maritime Residence and I had this Lebanese master student living in my house. He described to me how his family had left Lebanon during the war. I had never met a person of my own age (or close to it) who had lived through a war and I thought he might be interesting even though I could never quite figure out the pronunciation of his name. I would now pronounce his name without issue, but at that time I was still quite "white" and had had very little exposure to different cultures. Ironically, it was the year that I had to deal with many cultural issues in my house (including having to ask an Asian woman to stop cooking the foul smelling food she was concocting in her room because everyone was complaining and it was after all "illegal" to have appliances in a dorm room). Anyway, this master student attached himself to me. He would call me at bazaar times of the day, he would come to my room and cry, he would insist we watch french foreign films together in my room (I kept the door open) and then he bought me a very expensive poster which, really was the last straw. I was thoroughly disturbed and I think he sensed it because all of my awkwardness lead to a tearful conversation about how he was accused of sexual harassment in his lab. EEEK. He gave me the serious creeps and, being the person responsible for the house, I really couldn't do much about my discomfort. I was really happy when he stopped calling me and I moved the heck off campus. I associated this negative experience with Arabic men. It didn't last long because I of course, recognized what that meant about me and being narrow minded (or racist) was not something that I aspired to be. Instead, I learned to avoid weak, weepy, clingy men who have mental health issues. It opened up the dating pool A LOT as you can imagine.

Skip ahead 14 years and here we are. I married a man who is the complete opposite of weak and clingy (although weepy at times). He also knows how to tie a wicked head scarf in seconds. Check him out!