I’ve been told my whole life that I was different. “You’re special,” and talented, and “There’s just something about you.”
Since I’ve known nothing else outside of living and growing from moment to imperfect moment in this Black body, hearing these things about myself has always made me question why. What is it about me that shines so brightly that everyone else can see “It” so clearly, but somehow “It” remains a nameless factor?
Yes, I’m talented, but so are many others I’ve had the pleasure of sharing this life with. My family has always made me feel like I was beautiful. As dark-skinned women, we collectively know that this world historically only sees us as desirable in the shadows when no one is looking. So what really is “It”?
My Failures Forged Me
My parents and immediate family have told me stories about myself when I was a baby. I was always joyous, never crying or complaining. I could be set in the grass alone, and would play and laugh with blades of grass, clearly present and entertaining myself and the angels, as old folks often say. My Daddy told me that I would even weird them out sometimes, because he remembers when he was working the mid-shift when I was 1 year old or so. My Mommie would have me fed, all cleaned up and in my crib hours before he came home in the middle of the night. When my Daddy came in to check on me, I was standing up in my crib, smiling and waiting for him to visit. He told me that they both always felt like I had some sort of knowing. I just knew things, even at a very young age.
Sponsor Message
At age 5, my Mommie said that it was her goal to teach her girls everything she knew, so before I started kindergarten, I was already writing with my left hand. I knew my address, my home phone number and my Social Security number. And very soon after, I was reading. I like to say that words were my first love.
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