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I try hard to not visibly wince. Char. Short for Charcoal. Since I started at this school, I’ve laughed at their jokes and sucked it all up to make friends. And I’d made progress; just this last week they stopped calling me Eggplant. And then they’d agreed to come over. . . .
.😓😓😓
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I want to say something, but what? That I think I’m cute? ’Cause I’m not. That I have good hair? ’Cause I don’t. That I’m not dark? ’Cause I am.
So that rolling around in milk thing was stupid. So was the baking soda experiment. And I’m embarrassed to confess that for three months straight, I’d sit with yogurt on my face for fifteen minutes every night—yogurt ’cause I read something about the acid being good for lightening skin—but nothing happened.
“Yeah, of course.” But not three seconds after Dad plants a sweet kiss on Mama’s cheek, she asks, “But are you sure? Because, it never fails, every month there’s some unforeseen bill—a tire’s blown out, car tax due, insurance deductible for—”
Something about this doesnt add up
It sure isn’t because Dad could’ve been like, “Babe, I’ve gotta do something that’ll piss you off. . . .” But naw, he waltzes in like a champ with dinner—and now—busted.
He reminds me of....
Finally, Dad grabs his jacket, pulls out a bottle, and drinks straight from it. I gape at him.
Damn like why not wait until Genesis goes to bed
’cause where I’m from, if your hair’s not straight, bobbed, pixied, or even braided, then you can forget it. It’s a waste to be a Lite-Brite with a nappy hairstyle like dreadlocks.
Its definitely interesting to see this association of being light with good hair
I say and bolt to my room and make sure my hair’s not a mess, my skin’s not ashy, and my lips aren’t cracked.
Its so sad that he has her feeling that way
Just as I’m about to cop an attitude and be like, “Forget it,” I hear his brother Charlie’s screams, Get ’em away! Now, how can I get mad when Dad’s got all that inside him? So I settle with at least knowing I got Mama’s smile.
It doesnt matter hownhe feels he shouldnt treat her like that
Breadcrumbs. York. Out of My Mind. And, they even have a lot with Black people on the covers. Bud, Not Buddy. As Brave As You. Brown Girl Dreaming. The Jumbies. Gone Crazy in Alabama.
Yesss for the references
He sweeps his hand in my direction. “All the way from Africa!”
In sixth grade, this girl named Shatasha said that light-skin girls think they’re better than everybody else. She wasn’t the only one who said it, either. That’s probably Nia’s deal.
Interesting bias against light skinned girls
“Emory Anderson, that’s your child,” said a short, round woman. “So if she’s ugly, then you’re a hot mess.” The tables turned.
Damn thats fucked up
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But right now, I’m going to cry. I’m going to cry for the time Dad told me I was ugly. I’m going to cry because I keep having to start all over again. I’m going to cry because everyone in chorus left me singing—alone.
💔💔💔💔
I’ll say “no” because I never told Mama that the bald spots were actually because I used Nair hair-removing cream to take out the unrelaxed nappy hair once the new-growth started growing in. I’ll say “no” because I’m still ashamed that I wanted the coily part gone so badly that I didn’t even stop to consider what that stupid cream would do. I’ll say “no” because I remember when my hair fell out in patches and Mama drove herself nuts questioning why, and the beautician insisted that it was the relaxer and cut my hair almost to my ears, and I cried and cried and cried.
Wow this internslized hatred is just heartbreaking
“Emory.” Mama points the comb right at him. “We happy for you and all, but nobody’s in the mood for your drunk foolishness tonight.”
Exactly asshole
“I’m just sayin’. . . .” Dad goes to the refrigerator. “Anyone ever say you look like your mama, Gen-Gen? I can’t remember.”
What the fuck?? That's not necessary
Every Black girl I know, at one point or another, stands with friends on the playground and claims to have Cherokee in her family. Somebody’s always trying to prove they’re connected to beauty.
“Papa took one look at him,” she says, “went to
the kitchen and got a brown paper bag. He stepped up to Elizabeth’s beau, held the bag next to his face, and dropped it right there in Elizabeth’s lap.
“Understand that my grandpapa was a forward thinker. Our lineage is full of doctors and professors and successful businessmen. It’s not luck, Genesis.”
What the fuck? How can you say that to your granddaughter?
“You must understand—it was never anything personal. It’s just . . . look around. Who’s getting arrested? Who gets the worst jobs? Don’t you see, honey? My papa didn’t make the rules; he just understood them.”
One of the good “dark” ones.
Damn that’s a shame
I know for sure what sends him to bars and casinos. Me.
Oh no baby 😔
And another thing, being Black like me ain’t nothing to be proud about.
And you know what suddenly comes to me? This is why I shouldn’t feel bad for trying to make friends with light-skin girls. ’Cause if I’m with them—well, then it means they think I’m okay, and then everybody would think I’m okay, and eventually I’ll blend in to be one of them . . . kinda. Whoa. I think my brain is going to explode.
I hate to see how much her family has destroyed her ability to love herself
“Grandma doesn’t mean any harm with her fussing. Can’t you see Grandma loves you?” Good question.
That’s a damn good question because what she just did wasn’t love
What she actually tells me is: “Life would be so much less complicated for you, if you did.”
What the fuck
Black and dirty. Filthy. I hate it! Then I see it—there in the corner, a jug of bleach—
Oh gosh please don’t
“Well, that didn’t last long.”
What a dick
“All the time. People called me ‘stuck-up’ and ‘Lite-Brite,’ and a whole bunch of other names. I’ve never told your grandmother, but I was in a couple of fights. ’Course, she loved when people told her I looked white. I hated it ’cause at school it was, ‘Oh, you think you’re cute,’ and ‘You think you’re better than everybody, I’mma beat you up.’ I got all that.”
I like that the author explores the other end of the spectrum
I sit on my hands, suddenly afraid to reach for the same spoon as someone else in case they notice the difference too.
I have obsessive-compulsive
compulsive disorder, OCD. You saw me in action that day in the bathroom. And I don’t have friends because I got tired of their teasing, especially behind my back. Weirdo, Freak, you name it, they called me it. I hate being like this. So there you have it.”
“I know, but . . . how can I say this?” Yvette frowns. “I can smell your cooked hair.”
It's not right to call a teen a bitch, but she's a bitch
So I google “how to lighten,” and “skin” instantly pops up. The sites offer the same old suggestions: lemons, baking soda, milk, yogurt, honey, etcetera. Just as I’m about to blow smoke out of my ears, I stumble on bleaching creams. Bleaching creams? I click on “images.”
“It’s not that I hate you . . . but . . .” He starts to raise the bottle again but stops, and finally recaps it. “But it woulda been a lot easier. . . .”
I cant believe he's about to do this
Will this really work? What if, like, my face breaks out or something? Would my life really become less complicated? I picture the look on Troy’s face when he saw me reading about this stuff. And just like that, I’m not sure if I can do this.
What if I can get hazel-colored contacts, or green, like Belinda’s? What if Mama loves my hair and lets me keep my relaxer and add extensions?
You’re still gonna be Black. You’ll still be called names. And you’ll still have to be twice as good.”
“Something told me . . .”
Yesss Etta James
Sophia grins. “You go, big, bad Detroit,” she calls after me.
I swoop down to hug the little girl sitting on the curb with all her furniture. I visit the girl in the basement with the wrinkled brown bag passing from hand to hand. I kiss the lonely girl who hears ugly taunts from the mirror. I experience every single moment. And I’m not afraid. I am not afraid.
“She called him her pretty little boy. Me? I was never-gon’-amount-to-nothin’-like-yo’-black-nappy-headed-triflin’-daddy.”
Generational pain
“I love who I love. And now . . . it’s time for me to forgive those I love, you know?”
Thank you for giving her mom closure
