Reflection on my dark skin

Blue black. Jet black. Red bone. Chocolate. Mocha. Honey. High yellow. These aren’t flavors of ice cream or candy. These are names I’ve heard for the complexion of African American skin. I’m sure there are many I’m missing. I, myself, am a dark skinned woman. I’m not the darkest. I suppose I would label myself chocolate. I’m pretty sure I’m about the shade of your typical Hershey bar.

As a child, I remember the complexion of skin, and it’s importance, being some mysterious thing that I did not understand. I was raised by two loving parents. I was taught by them that I was beautiful. My mother referred to me as her “perfect chocolate chip.” I was jaundice as a baby and I loved my parents stories about how the hospital had to bake me until I was a perfect chocolate chip, hence my mother’s sweet name for me. I also remember a great-aunt of mine, an older black woman, that wore make-up foundation that quite obviously did not match her skin tone. She was darker than I and her make-up had this reddish tint and was lighter than her natural tone. The color on the back of her hands did not match her face and there was a distinct line formed at her chin. It was this aunt who said things like “don’t stay out in the sun all day, it’ll make you black.” Strange,… afterall, I was black. The tone in her voice, let me know that this increasing of blackness was not a positive in her mind.

I talked to my mother about it one day. I was young but I could perceive there was something different about the way my great-aunt viewed things versus my mother’s mindset. It was then I learned about the concept of “self-hating black folks.” Now I’m 25, so imagine that my mother is of the generation that professed “black is beautiful.” She believed it and she passed it on. For that I’m greatful. To understand my great-aunt, you must also know that part of my family is from Lousianna. A great mixture of cultures, ethnicities, languages, and complexions. There were many blacks who “passed.” They chose to pretend they were white. Now I don’t make any judgments here. It’s not my place. It’s clear that by passing, they were choosing an easier, softer way to live. Why endure the hardships that could result by the mere fact of being born “black.” It’s that being born black that caused the rift though. It’s common that there are number of shades and complexions within one family. So it’s probable that if one was light enough to pass, they had to cut ties with those who were too dark to make it through the narrow door of that racial passageway to a “better” life. I believe that part of “our” collective history lends itself to the prejudice that still exists among some black people regarding skin tone.

It boils down to this, the lighter a black person is, they were perceived to be closer to white. The assumption is that they have some white blood there somewhere (of course truth is there are few people that are “pure” anything). I remember rhymes about this. “White, you’re all right, black, step back, brown, stick around,” check out this, for detailed info, I don’t want to delve into it too much here, or at least now, http://books.google.com/books?id=VO99SPnt-kEC&pg=PA249&lpg=PA249&dq=light+alright,+black+step+back&source=web&ots=ycAYkNad3t&sig=nwMiwrCzhRBDaQqHlWGBwUyi2IA&hl=en&sa=X&oi=book_result&resnum=4&ct=result#PPT1,M1

Back to me being a kid…

Because of the love and involvement of my parents, I was given the ability to not internalize the negative views of my skin as a young child. This is a gift that not all are given. It is also a gift that proved difficult to keep. As I aged, complexion would again play a part in my self image. Children can be cruel and complexion was just another thing to make fun of or add to some yo mamma joke. I’ll by pass the years of questioning just what was beautiful, of looking at lighter black women with “better” hair on magazines, commercials, tv shows, and music videos. I’m going to skip the insecurity of dating in high school and realizing that by the mere fact of my skin tone I may not be someone’s type. That’s something all people deal with. Hey some guys prefer blondes and if that’s the case, I’m automatically out. I’m okay with that. I want to fast forward to the good part.

After lots of geographical moves growing up and graduating high school in the midwest (I did get a few boyfriends), I decided to go to college out east. So at 18 I arrived on the East Coast. I was near New York, and I visited the city often. It was the first time I lived in a large urban area and I was an adult. I was walking down the street with a girl friend of mine and car slowed to a crawl. A guy rolled down the window and said “my sister, looking good.” Now trust me, I had no intention of giving out my number or asking for his. After all I was in a big city, I was young, and I wasn’t trusting some stranger in a car. Still, this guy changed it all. I had never been called “my sister” as part of being hit on. It was great. I worked in midtown for a while and beautiful black men with dreads in business suits paid me attention. There were plenty men of all races that were paying me attention. Now of course part of it was just me coming into my own. But still a good part of it has to do with the fact that I was now hearing “I love your skin,” “I love your hair” (it was in dreads by this point). 

Summer time in the city, I loved it. Bring on the sun. Bring on the tan. Because for the first time in my life, people were saying, to me “the blacker the berry, the sweeter the juice.”

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Tags: black skin, complexion, heritage, passing, racism, skin