The recent comedy Year One references the forbidden fruit. The movie pokes fun at biblical accounts, but watching it I thought about how everybody has a forbidden fruit, something we want but we know will cause things to turn chaotic after we taste that delicious bite. For some, money is that fruit, especially if achieved by mob or gangster methods. For others, it's a beautiful body ready to touch despite its dangers.
For my father's side of my family, and me, it's wanting that foreign blood. Usually the features are black hair, dark skin, some sort of accent, and some major cultural differences. Metaphorically, we are the vampires, and they are the blood we want to suck. But usually, if we act upon those feelings, the results are disastrous. I'm not saying people shouldn't date somebody who's different. I'm a huge believer in interracial relationships. I'm just saying my family hasn't learned to find that happy medium yet.
The most famous case in the family is my Aunt Loretta's, maybe because hers was the most disastrous. My family can be super-religious and not open to cultural changes, and this occurred back in the 70s, near the beginning of the feminist movement, with some women still more concerned with finding a future love instead of having a future. Being very rebellious, Aunt Loretta became pregnant with an Arabic man's baby. The father's race shouldn't have been as big of a shock as it was, with one of her two sisters also married to an Arab (and that marriage being somewhat successful even today). But because he was Muslim, clashes were understandable.
They then moved to Iran for two years. I'm not sure which of the many stories from that period are true and which are just rumors, but I do know that the once carefree girl became a fearful woman who lost her son (the two most popular stories are that there was a forced abortion, and, alternatively, that the child was sold to another Iranian family). She got her other sister in trouble with the law (giving the sister no choice but to sue Loretta in court), and has been living on welfare ever since. She stays jobless and rarely leaves her room. She's scared of the FBI and of her ex-husband coming after her, and I'd like to call her crazy, but I can't tell whether her tales are real or fake. Maybe she can't either.
Then there's my dad, the hopeless romantic. Perhaps learning from his sister, he avoided dating women with extreme cultural differences, but is famous for walking the line. Growing up during the 60s and 70s, he became very much the womanizer, seeing in his mother what he did not want in a wife. His father, who never got past the sixth grade, got much of his education from old movies, fighting in the Korean War, and the times he lived in. He too was a womanizer – his first marriage ending because of his affairs with Asian women. Not wanting to recreate this history, my dad aspired to be a true head of his household and man's man. His problem was that he fell for and married women with very independent minds and cultural differences, and expected them to fit that traditional role once they got married. All three of his former wives have mixed backgrounds, being just white enough to not be looked down on by his family. My mother is very much Cherokee and Creek, and although having the most white persona of the three is physically the darkest. That marriage may not have been as big of a deal, because his family also has native blood (though it can't be proved). The other two wives, although very white-looking, have Hispanic roots in very different, unique ways, know Spanish, and frequently visit Mexico. The clashes between my dad and the wives were constant, and hearts were broken.
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