\u201cFor the Days I Don\u2019t Feel Black Enough\u201d<\/a>, this would be probably be part two.\u00a0 The ending is bleak, but stay with me, on Monday, I\u2019ll share some next steps that I hope leads to healing and reconciliation.<\/p>\nAnd Now:<\/p>\n
Sometimes, I Wish I Were White<\/b><\/p>\n
When I was a little girl and could not fall asleep at bedtime, I would play an imaginary game where I\u2019d get one wish, any wish granted. I\u2019d lay in my bed at night, feeling invisible under the cloak of darkness and whisper under my breath, \u201cI wish were white.\u201d<\/p>\n
When most girls say, \u201cI wish I was a princess\u201d or \u201cI wish I was a mermaid\u201d, or even, \u201cI wish I was cowgirl\u201d (I did live in Texas, y\u2019all),\u00a0 I would say, \u201cI want to be it all\u2014the princess, the mermaid, the cowgirl\u2014as long as I was a white princess, white mermaid, and of course, a white cowgirl.<\/strong><\/p>\nWith my dark brown skin with darker brown eyes, I was the \u201cdark\u201d daughter. \u00a0Much darker than my own mama whose fair skin, \u201cgood\u201d long red hair and sparking green eyes would have let her pass as white , if it were not for her wide, flat distinctly African-American nose.\u00a0\u00a0 I on the other-hand was like my daddy\u2014cocoa complexion, ruddy cheeks, a little too much junk in the trunk.<\/p>\n
Because daddy made me feel normal\u2014not beautiful, but normal-everything he said was gold!\u00a0 Perfection.\u00a0 Truth.<\/p>\n
So when he told me that I needed to be whiter than my white friends, I took that to mean my dark skin, no, our<\/em> dark skin was bad<\/strong>.\u00a0 A hindrance. A liability.\u00a0 I knew my brown would never be as good as most of my friends\u2019 peach, apricot or white.<\/p>\nAnd so I would play my game, \u201cI wish I were white\u201d and lose myself in this imaginary world. Little girls want to feel beautiful\u2014even if it\u2019s only in the world they create. In my world, a little elf with a sad smile, would come find me even though my brown skin hid me in the dark\u2014with magic anyone can be seen.\u00a0 He\u2019d sprinkle magic dust over my relaxed hair and like Cinderella\u2019s transformation from common cinder girl to a lovely princess, my hair slowly changed.\u00a0 It grew finer and blonder. Longer and luscious. Then my skin would lighten, bit, by bit, by miraculous bit, until my skin was no longer bad brown, but creamy peachy perfection.<\/p>\n
I\u2019d look into my mirror and giggle!\u00a0 I\u2019d twirl, squeal, and kiss my elf on his pointy ears! \u201cThank you!\u201d I exclaimed.<\/p>\n
I was finally white.<\/p>\n
And oh the adventures, the joys, the privileges, the acceptance from all the \u201ccool\u201d kids\u00a0 would\u00a0 White Osheta enjoy.<\/p>\n
I was still me.\u00a0 I still loved Jo March, and New Kids on the Block, and Steve Urkel\u2014but better.<\/p>\n
Prettier. \u00a0Acceptable.\u00a0 Ubiquitous.<\/p>\n
But now, twenty-two years later mostly healed from bullying because I wasn\u2019t \u201cblack enough\u201d and \u00a0somewhat accepting of this brown skin I walk in, I still catch myself playing, \u201cI wish I were white\u201d.<\/p>\n
And oh the adventures, the joys, the privileges, the acceptance I imagine I would have as Adult White Osheta.<\/p>\n
Sometimes, I imagine White Osheta will open the website of the latest, biggest, most exciting event for Christian women and automatically feel welcomed.\u00a0 She\u2019d say \u201cThis is a place for me to meet my Jesus tribe!\u00a0 Look she has my blonde hair and she has my blue eyes! Look that girl has the same statement necklace I bought at Charming Charlie\u2019s. I\u2019m totally going to register!\u201d<\/p>\n
Instead of how Black Osheta feels when the only representation of her brown skin is at the bottom of the sidebar, or at the end of a row of Caucasian beauties, or maybe even worse, buried a few pages in on the \u201cOur vision\u201d page to make sure everyone knows this group cares about diversity.\u00a0 Black Osheta\u2019s heart drops to her gut and she thinks, \u201c If I go, would they welcome me there for me or my skin\u2026does having a sprinkling of black faces in their crowd assuage their homogeny? I just won\u2019t go\u2014I don\u2019t want to be the only black person at this event\u2011it\u2019s hard enough connecting with the white friends I have, why go and be their token?\u201d<\/p>\n
This is a shame since all Black Osheta wants is to know and be known.<\/strong><\/p>\nSometimes, I wish I were white.<\/b><\/p>\n
As White Osheta, I\u2019d imagine going to the museum with my three kiddos and no one would ask if I\u2019m the nanny. In fact, not a single person would notice my three and me.\u00a0 We belonged in the halls of intelligence and education. We were white.<\/p>\n
As Black Osheta I\u2019m amazed when someone asks if I\u2019m the nanny of these three children who bear my features but not my coloring. Why would they think that? I thought we moved past the assumption that black women are \u201cThe Help\u201d.\u00a0 Then again\u2026maybe not.<\/p>\n
Sometimes, I wish I were white.<\/b><\/p>\n
As White Osheta, I can shop in upscale boutiques without a discreet employee tail.\u00a0 Gushing at the soft cashmere sweaters, the shop owner will say, \u201cfeel the quality, isn\u2019t it like butter?\u201d\u00a0 I\u2019ll rub my perfectly white hand over the fabric while balancing a pumpkin spice latte in the other\u2014not problem at all.<\/p>\n
Black Osheta has to smile and strike up a conversation when she first walks in, so they know she\u2019s trust worthy, well-spoken, and not prone to steal.\u00a0 She\u2019ll guzzle down her latte just steps outside the store-it\u2019s less embarrassing than being asked to throw it away in front of the other shoppers.<\/p>\n
Sometimes, I wish I were white.<\/b><\/p>\n
As White Osheta, I\u2019d turn on a romantic film and instantly feel connected with the main characters. I can see myself in them as I easily slip into their story.\u00a0 Escapism success!<\/p>\n
Black Osheta has to re-imagine the heroine as African-American.\u00a0 She spends half the movie wondering if that hot lead guy would ever date a black woman, and the other half forcing herself to forget that if in fact she was transported to Regency England, as a black woman, she\u2019d be lucky if she landed a place below stairs.<\/p>\n
Of course as Black Osheta, I\u2019d never hear\u00a0 \u201cMrs. Darcy, Mrs. Darcy, Mrs. Darcy\u201d whispered over candles with Pemberly sprawling before us.<\/p>\n
Black Osheta watches \u201cScandal\u201d because Olivia\u2019s gorgeous and she wants to be too.\u00a0 Olivia, with her brown skin, and white man, and over-bearing father who said, \u201cYou have to be twice as good to have half of what they have\u201d.<\/p>\n
When she was a little girl, did Olivia wish she were white too?\u2019<\/p>\n
Sometimes, I wish I were white.\u00a0 <\/b><\/p>\n
When my sweet, dear white friends call me up and want to hang out or \u201clike\u201d my Facebook statuses or want to talk \u201cScandal\u201d with me\u2014 I don\u2019t want to question if they love me for me<\/em>, or if they just want a black friend to ease the subtle, yet real discomfort<\/em> that years of oppression have woven into the fabric of black\/white relationships.\u00a0 \u2018Do they just want a black friend to create a smoke screen narrative?\u2019, I wonder. Do I make it ok for them to say, \u201cI\u2019m progressive\/liberal\/accepting\u201d, and \u201cwe\u2019re past race issues\u201d and \u201cI\u2019m not a racist\u2014I have a black friend\u201d? <\/em><\/p>\nAffection is not necessarily reconciliation.<\/strong><\/p>\nBlack Osheta is always filtering her interactions with white women through the \u201cToken\u201d lens.<\/p>\n
\u201cDo you love me or do you want me to ease your discomfort? \u201d that is the question.<\/p>\n
Honestly, I just want to be confident that they see me as I see them, beautiful, funny, ridiculously intelligent\u2014God\u2019s best and bravest gift to me.<\/p>\n
This is a privilege that White Osheta blissfully enjoys. Racial lens free living.<\/p>\n
When the fantasy ends, it\u2019s time to go back to being Black Osheta.\u00a0 And to be honest, sometimes I don\u2019t want to.<\/p>\n
But I am black so I live my life filtering everything through race. I don\u2019t have the privilege of blithely smiling and ignoring elephants in the room.\u00a0 At times, I resent this burden that comes with my skin.\u00a0 Which is why I occasionally catch myself wishing I were white.<\/p>\n
I don\u2019t want to resent my skin though, she\u2019s been faithful to me.\u00a0 She\u2019s endured frantic scrubbing to make the color go away and irrational hiding from the sun because \u201cI don\u2019t want to get too dark\u201d.<\/p>\n
My skin deserves to be loved.\u00a0\u00a0As much as the wide hips that bore my babies deserve grace. As much as my thick thighs deserve wonder for how they keep me upright\u2014my creamy cocoa perfect brown skin deserves love.\u00a0 She\u2019s protected my inmost parts\u2014those secret places where God said he knew me before I was even born. She was there while Big God breathed onto my little spirit. My skin stretched to contain the mystery of my newly formed Imago Dei .<\/p>\n
When God finished leaving his thumbprint on my heart, he noticed my skin.\u00a0 He saw the dark rich mahogany she\u2019d be, smiled and said with pride and conviction, \u201c You are good\u201d.<\/p>\n
But sometimes, I still wish I were white.\u00a0 <\/b><\/p>\n
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