Let me begin with an incident that occurred outside my clinical consulting room on a warm day here in the Midwest. This morning I had driven into the city early to grab a cup of coffee before my day started. I went to my usual place, and as usual, was greeted warmly by a young African American woman behind the counter. As my latte was being prepared, we discussed the Sox’s victory. When we reached a pause, our conversation took what I considered to be an odd, and sad, turn: leaning forward and speakly a little quieter, “what are you mixed with?” she asked. I must have drifted here, I thought, with some anxiety. Was she asking me about the coffee? I looked at her—hoping for some clarification, some clue as to what I had missed. “I beg your pardon” I offered. “What are you mixed with? You’re not from Chicago? Where are your people from? Are you part Indian? Your skin—it’s nice—not too light or too dark. And your hair, your hair is good hair”. “Oh”, I said, “no, I’m not mixed”.
I wondered what other lessons she had learned in her twenty-something years of life concerning color/blackness/her self. I felt sad as I imagined her looking at her chocolate brown skin each morning with her thick dreads reaching her shoulders and her wondering if her hair, her skin—her lovely brown skin–her self—“was good”.
What happens when a black girl encounters a mirror–here, in a place, called home?
Kimberlyn Leary has stated it ever so eloquently, “race is worn and lived similarily and differently by each of us”. Yes. We all wear this highly contested and socially created and perpetuated idea called race. Do we choose how we wear race? Do we choose what we see reflected in the mirror? What happens to the mirror image when we move into blackness? Move with me.
This entry is taken from the blog of Dr. Phillis Sheppard http://womanist-journal.blogspot.com/