A few days ago, one of my friends requested that I speak with her daughter, in reference to her skin complexion. Her concern was that her daughter did not find the inherent beauty in her skin, and viewed her skin as "ugly" and "unattractive". I can only imagine the inner turmoil a thirteen year old must endure, as she attempts to navigate not only puberty, but the fact that regardless of who she is, people will only know her as the skin she's in. When I was growing up, I was the person in my house with the darkest complexion. And I wore it with a badge of honor. With coarse, thick, kinky hair, and the complexion to match, I knew that I was beautiful. I had to be, because my mom and dad told me so. My mother would shower my sister and I with how beautiful our complexions were, regardless of the polarity of our skin tones. My father, a typical Black man from West Baltimore, highlighted the differences in our complexions, with nicknames like "Chocolate...
A blog discussing social injustice.