I remember when dating outside of your neighborhood, your “clique,” your race, your borough, was like dating outside of your species.

My first date outside of my species met me in Manhattan for movies and art shows and things the guys in my hood didn’t even know existed, or would dismiss the art museums and film noir as being interests of male “flames.” He would’ve been beaten to a pulp had I let him take me home, like he asked on many occasions.

“The City” had folk from places I’d never even heard of. I hung out with a young man from the United Nations High school who was born in a small village in Chile. He frequented Kenya and his father was from Spain. He turned me on to writers and movies that had nothing to do with action heroes and romance. A Korean holistic doctor, who made more cash than his NYMD brother, took me traveling and got me interested in reindeer antlers and bear’s bladders.

“Mixing” erased a lot of false notions taught to me by family and location. Even though I was from the low-end of the monetary status pole, I was an adventurous American born just across the Brooklyn Bridge from one of the world’s greatest cities that afforded me the chance to expose myself to elements foreign to my upbringing; it opened many dimensions to my thinking.

I was flat-out shocked at how beautifully I was received in Germany and Denmark, even Poland and Russia. Not only did the German, Dane, and Dutch guys light up like Christmas trees when I came around, they actually took me to meet their parents on the first date (Only at a court appearance was I introduced to a guy’s parents here at home). A woman could get spoiled being treated like a valued lady. No drooling carnivores.

My son is young, but I’m glad to see he has mom’s international tastes. I never pigeonholed him. I hope he brings the girl(s) home to meet Mom; maybe that’s the secret to keeping “the law” out of the relationship.

Dating outside of my species did more than add new flavor to the menu, it created a new, stronger and more evolved me.