Your cousin's black!?

So, if my students ASKED, they could find out that I grew up in the neighborhood of the school, had a single mom, have a weird family just like they do (a half brother, a stepbrother and stepsister) . . . But no, I must seem like I was born with a polo pony birthmark. My little cousin Allen (actually, second cousin once removed, I think -- my first cousin's son) was going to have to wait quite a while for a ride home today, so I had him call his grandma (my aunt) to see if I could give him a ride. As I left the parking lot, some of my students started waving furiously at me. I rolled my window down. "Miss Mockula, why don't you give ME a ride?" I said I can't give just any student a ride, this is my cousin. The female student then says, with all the disbelief and disdain I'm sure you would muster if I told you I was Buzz Aldrin, "Your cousin's BLACK!?" I nod. "Your cousin's black!" This time I wasn't sure if it was a question or if she was informing me. I said again, yeah, and I shook my head, rolled my window up (as she yelled it again), and we drove off. How hard is this to understand? My cousin dated a black guy, they loved each other very much, and when men and women love each other very much . . . Well, it was probably more like she was young and not thinking hard enough about birth control, but I love Allen and would never wish she'd used it now, you know? Anyway, give me a break -- he's not super dark-skinned or anything. Half the African-American kids at my school are actually mixed-race, and I've stopped being surprised when their white mamas come in for a meeting. So why am I so far removed from any possibility of having a perfectly normal, whacked-out family? Sheesh.