I was five or six years old when I had my first memorable conversation about race. It wasn’t contentious. I wasn’t defensive, but I was as passionate and confident as my child-heart could manage.
I remember coloring outside with my friend, Brittany. She had blue eyes and blond hair. She lived on the other side of the cul-de-sac from me and we were the best of friends.
We were drawing pictures of ourselves in various scenarios and action shots. My self-portraits were never complete without wild, curly hair. It’s my signature feature. Although it’s taken me a couple decades to accept its unpredictable nature and embrace it for what it is: mine.