When I was asked to write an essay about my relationship in honor of Martin Luther King Jr. Day, I accepted immediately. I've been in an interracial relationship with my fiancé Fred for two and a half years (and dated a bevy of men from different cultures and races before that), and I was raised by my parents to believe in Martin Luther King Jr's philosophy: All men are created equal. So who better than me to write on this topic? But after staring at a blank document on my computer screen for over 2 hours, I wondered why I was still struggling to put thoughts to paper.

And the answer is this: To me, Fred is not black. And I'm not white. We are Fred and Colleen, and we are in love. I know that sounds simple, possibly naïve, and definitely romantic—but it's true. About a year ago I interviewed Shonda Rhimes, creator and executive producer of Grey's Anatomy for a different magazine, and, at the time, I commended her on creating one of the first television shows to portray a multitude of interracial relationships without it being the central issue. In fact, race is never discussed or even alluded to on the show. She replied, "I think that issues of race are a larger conversation that people project on a relationship, but for the two people in it, that's not the primary thing on their minds."

I had never thought about it that way before, but it struck a chord because it's so true. Fred and I rarely discuss race because it's not the biggest difference between us. What is? We went to rival colleges: He's a Georgia Tech grad, and I'm a UGA Bulldog. We still can't sit next to each other on the couch on game day. He watches movies with the lights on; I like complete darkness. He has to have a fan on while he sleeps; I pile on the blankets to compensate.

That's not to say race doesn't affect us at all. In a perfect world, it wouldn't, but we don't live in a perfect world. When we visited a church in Savannah, GA, an older white man one pew up spent the entire sermon with his head twisted around, staring at us. When we got in our car, we both looked at each other: "Did you see that man?", we both asked. We assumed it was because we're an interracial couple, and he didn't approve, but we'll never know for sure.

We've had to discuss what we will tell our kids when they encounter racism for being "mixed." It's a reality we can't ignore but not one that we think will be the biggest hurdle in their lives (though it would be nice if it were).

And then there are the funnier, cultural differences [1]. This past Christmas, Fred called his dad to tell him we were coming home for the holiday, and his dad replied, "I was thinking about celebrating only Kwanza this year." Not knowing much about the holiday except for the fact that it celebrated African American culture, I blurted out: "Am I invited?" Fred laughed for a long time, and then explained to me what Kwanza is and that I would certainly be welcome.

But again, the majority of these issues stem from the society that we live in, not what goes on between us a couple. And I like to believe that, with each passing generation, our society becomes more accepting of interracial relationships. The statistics appear to support that: In 2005, 7 percent of American marriages were interracial, compared to less than 2 percent in 1970.

But the fact that me being in an interracial relationship is newsworthy enough for me to write an essay about it is a telling point: Our society still has a ways to go on the matter. I think Rhimes put it best in our interview when she said: "Part of a truly diverse world is not needing to make a statement about the fact that it's a diverse world. When we get to that point, we've gotten somewhere."

In the meantime, Fred and I have more important things to discuss: like whose team will win the next big game [2].

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