As a biracial child in America, I never quite fit in. Growing up in Mendocino,California with exactly one “black” girl (myself) in the entire school, I was the go to for questions about rap music, dance moves and slang. I felt as if I was a representative for the entire African American race even though I am just as white as I am black. Once I left the sheltered bubble of Mendocino, I saw more people that didn’t look like me which left me in an identity crisis, everyone had a community except for me. My African family praised my fairness, and adored my curly tresses, but my white family didn't understand what to do with it. Although my hair seems like a trivial issue, it certainly did not feel like it to me. My hair was the physical representation
