“My daughter changed her profile picture today. Five minutes later, my phone buzzed — and a text changed how I saw the world.”
“I didn’t know your daughter was dating a Black guy… did you?”
I stared at the message for a long time. Not because I didn’t know what to say — but because I wanted to say it right.
So I waited. Thought. Breathed. And here’s the answer I wish I’d sent:
Yes. I know.
But the color of his skin doesn’t define who he is.
What defines him is how he treats my daughter.
I see a young man who comes to my house and looks me in the eye with respect.
“Good evening, ma’am.”
“Thank you, ma’am.”
We talk about football and baseball. He never leaves without saying goodbye. Never once has he been rude, or careless, or arrogant.
I see a man who shows up for her — really shows up.
He takes her to dinner, to soccer games, to real places that build memories. Not to clubs, not to wild parties. He gives her time, not trouble.
Every Sunday morning, he takes her to church. He plays in the band. She sits with his family.
How many young men do you know who still do that?
I can count them on one hand.
He doesn’t hit her.
He doesn’t lie to her.
He doesn’t insult her.
He doesn’t make her cry.
So, if the question is whether I’d rather see my daughter with someone “her own race”…
The answer is no.
Because respect doesn’t come with a color code.
Love doesn’t need matching skin tones.
At the end of the day, what matters to me is simple:
My daughter is loved.
She is valued.
She is treated like the queen she deserves to be.
And that makes me prouder than anything else.
I never had that kind of love in my own life.
But she does.
And that’s all a parent could ever hope for. ❤️
(Credits: Heather Boyes)