Updated: May 17, 2018
Originally Published: Aug. 26, 2017
“Mommy, I don’t want to be like you.”
It hit me like a ton of bricks while I was in the beauty aisle of Target, awkwardly balancing on one foot to grab the last tub of SheaMoisture Curl Enhancing Smoothie from the top shelf.
Suddenly, it felt as if the entire store had paused to witness this moment. I could almost hear the imaginary announcement blaring over the intercom: “Attention Target shoppers. We have a mother here with an identity crisis in aisle 3. I repeat, an identity crisis!”
In reality, I inhaled deeply, took my daughter’s hands, and pulled her close for a hug.
In that instant, I was terrified. I didn’t want my daughter to reject her identity. Being a Black woman in today’s world carries a lot of weight, and it’s not easy.
It means ignoring comments meant to provoke a reaction. It means grappling with double consciousness and often feeling the pangs of depression. It means facing microaggressions that chip away at your self-esteem. It means the burden of being perceived as the model minority. And it means, despite your struggles, there will always be someone ready to invalidate your experiences.
But most importantly, it is a journey that can be both emotionally and physically draining.
My daughter is still so young that she might not grasp the complexities of racial identity or the heavy weight of being Black. Yet she is aware of the difference between her skin and mine — a realization that makes this conversation crucial. I couldn’t let someone else guide her down a path of self-doubt.
It was imperative that I take control of this dialogue. Unlike me, my daughter will navigate a new and multifaceted racial identity, something I can’t define for her. At that moment, I recognized that no matter how artfully I crafted my response, I couldn’t physically shield her from the world. Biracial children exist in a paradox; they belong to two races yet often feel they don’t fully belong to either. That’s a lot for anyone to digest.
So, in the beauty aisle of Target, I took another breath and asked, “Sweetie, why don’t you want to be Black?”
“I dunno,” she murmured, staring at her feet.
“Being Black is not a bad thing,” I assured her. “I’m Black too, right?”
She looked at me briefly and nodded, “Yeah.”
“And you love Mommy, correct?” I continued. She nodded again. “Sometimes, as a Black girl, you need to confront challenges that others might not see. It’s like being a superhero; we just don’t always wear a cape.”
She pondered this for a moment before asking, “So if I’m Black, does that mean I get a cape?”
I hugged her tighter. “Absolutely! You can get a matching one, just like me.”
In that moment, I understood: it wasn’t that my daughter wanted to reject her Blackness; she was simply trying to understand who she was. I know how the world will perceive her, and while I can’t protect her from it, I can ensure that she knows she is loved and that she should love herself fully. She should embrace every bit of melanin in her skin, no matter how much or how little.
I often hear other parents say, “I don’t teach my kids to see color,” and that concerns me. The world is vibrant and diverse, whether we acknowledge it or not. We need to engage in these tough conversations early on rather than waiting for the world to dictate how our children should treat others. Understanding color is part of life. Just as I want my daughter to appreciate her heritage, I also want her to recognize and respect the backgrounds of others. As she grows, more questions will arise. I’ll be better prepared with each discussion. Like many parenting moments, it’s about learning, adjusting, and hoping for improvement in future encounters.
And sometimes, it does get better.
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