When I was 9 years old, I wanted to be White
While in elementary school for the entire month of February, we celebrated Black History. A month celebrated to acknowledge Black/African Americans who change and made history, showing their strength, courage, bravery, intelligence, and so much more. My 4th-grade teacher showed us every movie, video, or documentary that Black History wasn’t just to prove the white people wrong but to show we had always been right in every way. From inventions, businesses, creations, sports, etc., No matter how inhumanely they treated us, we didn’t give up—persevering through all racism and discrimination, which still goes on to this day.
For some reason, I couldn’t grasp racism at a young age. How could someone hate a particular ethnicity that much? Something no one had control over. Witnessing what had transpired for many Black History months, I wasn’t proud to be brown-skinned, with bushy hair and wide hips. I was afraid of being hated and poorly treated because of the color of my skin. Not to mention, all I saw in movies, magazines, or TV shows were skinny females with a lighter complexion than me. It was rare to feature a Black/African American female with her hair in its natural state. It almost felt like society paraded their definition of beauty in size and color, and black was never one of them.
At the age of 9, I had learned what was socially accepted and what wasn’t. I was hurt because I wanted to be myself, unapologetic, and without being made fun of, but I felt I couldn’t do that. Or at least I was afraid too. At the age of 9, I categized myself as a black girl, whose mama didn’t approve of a relaxer and wore baggy clothes to hind her curves and because of that, I didn’t consider myself beautiful. For years I felt I didn’t know how to be black; neither did I know how to own my heritage, culture, past, and future. Braids were the only thing I felt close to, and even now, writing this, I didn’t even deserve to wear braids back then.
I wanted to change that. I needed to learned who I was and being proud of it. I realized I could no longer give society the sweet satisfaction of taking away the one thing that meant most to me, which was my pride, ownership of my skin color, and my culture. I had to stand for what my ancestors had fought so hard and so long for. I needed to own that I was BLACK & MORE than able to be me freely, from my skin color, hair texture, eye color, and background.
But as time still revolves, I am learning more and more about myself every single day. The Black Lives Matter movement made me realize that a message needed to be delivered because many had ignored the number of black lives lost, and too many had celebrated in mockery for it. Within months I was becoming terrified of being falsely accused or shot and started to develop a hatred for cops, and why? All because of the color of my skin. Replaying back to my 9-year-old mentality, I didn’t want to become that little girl all over again. Whether it was the start of the Black Lives Matter movement, the advancement on social media, or the news, it all made me realize I wanted to be recognized and acknowledged as a human being. I wanted to be judged by my character and not what is perceived based on my skin complexion.
From everything that has happened and all of the lost innocent lives, I didn't have the words, until now for what I wanted to share. I can only pray these words would change me and give the next person a better outlook.
When God created you and me, He never intended for us to see the color of our skin, and though we may have cultural differences doesn’t give us the right to divide but the opportunity to learn. Everything that is happening in the world right now has been and will forever be a heart condition. A love condition. To see a person as a human being; to be treated with honor, dignity, and respect. It was never meant for us to be divided by the simplicity of our skin color. Despite the many voices of contradiction, hatred, and evilness to conquer us all, we must see a person for who they are, a human being. We will never reach the finish line to cease any hatred until we first re-exam ourselves.
