Being Black was the worst thing that ever happened to me. Or so I thought. At the tender age of five, I became aware of my skin color. No, I don’t mean I just so happened to notice that my skin wasn’t pale as snow or dark as midnight. I realized that my skin tone was different; a bad kind of different. I came to the conclusion that I wanted straight hair and White skin as they were synonymous with beautiful; Black skin and curly hair, on the other hand, were not.
“Ouch,” I exclaimed as my mom started combing my hair. It was a part of our daily routine before school started; sit down and let my mom comb and style my extremely curly and kinky hair. I was what most people referred to as “tender headed.” I would cry and fuss every time my mom even mentioned braiding or having to comb my hair as it hurt badly. When my mom had finished torturing me and my scalp, I recall saying something that would take my mom by utter surprise. “I wish I was white. They have pretty straight hair. Black hair is ugly.” I can’t exactly remember my mom’s face when I said that, but I know for a fact that she was disappointed and somewhat hurt by what I had said. …show more content…
I had asked to get a new doll and as per usual, my dad said yes. As I perused the aisles looking for the best doll to add to my collection, I found the Holy Grail of all dolls. When I say she was gorgeous, she was GORGEOUS; blonde hair, blue eyes, the whole ordeal. I picked her up and immediately ran to show my dad. “Look daddy! I want this one,” I shouted in my abnormally high pitched voice. He looked at the doll with a sort of sadness then asked, “why don’t you want a black doll Boop? Why do you always choose the white dolls?” I answered very matter of factly, “they’re not pretty. They have dark skin and their clothes are bad.” No five-year-old Black girl should ever think nor say such a thing about someone who’s of the same
“Ouch,” I exclaimed as my mom started combing my hair. It was a part of our daily routine before school started; sit down and let my mom comb and style my extremely curly and kinky hair. I was what most people referred to as “tender headed.” I would cry and fuss every time my mom even mentioned braiding or having to comb my hair as it hurt badly. When my mom had finished torturing me and my scalp, I recall saying something that would take my mom by utter surprise. “I wish I was white. They have pretty straight hair. Black hair is ugly.” I can’t exactly remember my mom’s face when I said that, but I know for a fact that she was disappointed and somewhat hurt by what I had said. …show more content…
I had asked to get a new doll and as per usual, my dad said yes. As I perused the aisles looking for the best doll to add to my collection, I found the Holy Grail of all dolls. When I say she was gorgeous, she was GORGEOUS; blonde hair, blue eyes, the whole ordeal. I picked her up and immediately ran to show my dad. “Look daddy! I want this one,” I shouted in my abnormally high pitched voice. He looked at the doll with a sort of sadness then asked, “why don’t you want a black doll Boop? Why do you always choose the white dolls?” I answered very matter of factly, “they’re not pretty. They have dark skin and their clothes are bad.” No five-year-old Black girl should ever think nor say such a thing about someone who’s of the same