If you ask my kids what they love most about themselves, they won’t hesitate to tell you. They love being Black. And I like to think that’s because I pour into them so much that being proud of who they are just feels natural.
A few days ago my son made the comment, “Once you go Black, you never go back.”
Now we’ve all heard this before, but I was taken aback because what does a 12 year old know about saying this?
So I asked him why he said it.
He said, “Just because once you like a Black girl, it’s hard to like anything else. I think I’m made for Black girls.”
Kids say the darndest things.
But did he lie? LOL.
Being Black is so beautiful. I love my skin. I love my hair. I love my full lips. I love my curvy body. I love everything that makes me a Black woman. And the crazy part is, these same things I’ve grown to love today were the same things I hated as a young girl.
I grew up surrounded by Blackness. Reggae nights, family gatherings, music, laughter, culture all around me. We danced, we came together, we celebrated. And yet, as a young girl, I was never really taught to love my skin. People would call me pretty. Strangers would tell my mom how well-dressed her kids were. But inside, I sat quietly wishing I could be anything other than a Black girl. I hated my hair. I hated my dark skin. I hated the way kids at school made being dark-skinned feel ugly. I wanted to be different because being dark‑skinned felt like something I had to defend.
Somewhere along the way, that little girl grew up. I realized I had a choice. I could either stay that little girl who held onto the hatred of being Black, or I could truly love who God made me. I could allow what others thought of me to continue dimming my light, or I could change the narrative and make sure I was healed.
That choice wasn’t just for me, it was for the children I would one day raise. Because, Before I knew it, I was a Black woman raising a Black boy. And then a Black girl too. I became very aware of what the world would see when they looked at my kids, whether they knew them or not.
So I talk to them. I pour into them. I remind them who they are before anyone else gets the chance to tell them something different. I show them what it looks like to love themselves, even when the world tries to say otherwise. My daughter sees me in fake hair, fake nails and makeup and also loving my natural self just the same. She sees that being put together doesn’t mean you have to hide who you are. My son sees me stand tall, speak up when I’m disrespected, and choose joy even when it’s hard. Both of them hear me tell them that they are already more than enough just as they are. They know loving yourself doesn’t have to fit into one box, and that your Blackness, in every shade and form, is a reason to shine.
I think this generation of parents is different. We don’t pretend things don’t exist. We hear the comments. We see the looks. And instead of letting it break us, we raise children who are secure in who they are long before the world tries to test them.
As James Baldwin said, “Know from whence you came. If you know whence you came, there are absolutely no limits to where you can go.”
Happy Black History Month!
Love ya, BYE!
Tee Talk 