The reviews on this book sparked my attention but once I read some of the book's excerpt, I knew it was a must read. Here's a small peek of what lies inside. Enjoy and grow.
I was eight years old the day my mother warned me not to play in the sun and I already knew that I was invisible. I had not read Ralph Ellison's Invisible Man. Toni Morrison had not yet written The Bluest Eye. But already I had tasted the essence of racial and colorist tragedy. I feasted on it every day. I had parents who loved me, a nurturing family, many friends. I was smart in school, was often considered the teacher's pet. And I also knew that the specific physical traits that comprised my racial identity were despised.
Words had informed me of this. The words from family and friends that showered praise and compliments on lighter hued, straighter haired children for their beauty, words that I never heard used to describe brown to black children. Words like "Isn't she so pretty?" uttered with a sharp intake of stunned breath, eyes bulging in near-disbelief, at the sight of a curly haired light-skinned toddler. Words like "Just look at that hair!" (Translation: it was long, straight, thick.)
"Look at those eyes" (Translation: maybe they were light brown or green or grey). All the words I heard. All the words I read. And for a long time, all the words I could imagine thinking or writing supported skin color apartheid. As a child, I already knew that the world was a pigmentocracy. And I knew where I fit in that hierarchy.
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