The day after I married my white husband, I was elated of course, but I soon felt…what? not fear exactly, more circumspection. On April 27, 2002, I would–until death did I part–be the red dot on the white paper, the dandelion on the otherwise pristine lawn. Shares. Whispers. Party invitations ‘lost’ in the mail.

What makes you buck against the herd, go sideways or zig zagged when everyone else goes straight? I believe with all my heart that it’s the inexorable force of love. It is the tie that binds us; it makes us brave. All who dare to love, partner or marry someone from another race, we forthwith become decendants of Mildred and Richard Loving.

And when I think about what they did during those ararchic days of the 1960’s, when the world was turned on its head, I feel almost reverential. Then I feel a little ashamed about balking over the Lilliputian inconvenience of always being noticed. Not when the Lovings faced the brazen spit-in-your-face kind of scorn. Despite the jeers, the threats, the fear, it was the love– and how befitting their name– that ultimately overcame.

So what’s a little uninvited attention when you think about what that couple went through? Where would I be today without the Lovings? Perhaps, love-less.

So I say to the world: Go ahead and stare! Take a good look at LOVE.

Here's to you, Richard and Mildred!