 |
| A common issue in the African American community |
Under normal circumstances, I would have never noticed him.
He was a piece of chocolate tucked behind the shelves of the gas station convenience store. I briefly noticed the smooth surface of his forehead peaking above the butterscotch krimpets and the honey buns. It was very early that morning, the clouds had yet to part, and the dreary sky didn’t provide much light inside the dim store. I noticed him, acknowledged that we were the lone customers at the gas station, but didn’t hesitate in my quick-paced walk to the convenience store counter.
Outside, I began the process of pumping gas in my car. I pulled the collar of my coat closer to my throat, hoping to block the early morning wind from piercing my skin. After struggling with the gas nozzle, I looked up to see the smooth skinned man staring at me from the pump near his own car. As our eyes locked, he smiled widely, his dark skin stretching the corners of his face into two dazzling dimples. Although tired and cold, I couldn’t resist returning the grin.
While we both pumped our gas, we exchanged several flirty faces between each other. Satisfied with the playful banter, I got in my car in order to begin my long day. Before I could even start the engine, the perfect piece of chocolate was promptly approaching my vehicle.
Getting a better view, his dark skin shone luxuriously. His lips poked out in a sexy pout. His bedroom eyes hung low under long eyelashes and deep brown lids. As his athletic frame grew closer, my stomach knotted in anticipation.
“How you doing?” he said coolly, leaning down into my car. He slowly started grinning. “You know,” he said, before I could even respond, “You’re one of the top three prettiest dark skinned women that I have ever seen in my life.”
The knot in my stomach started to unravel.
One of the prettiest dark skinned women he’s ever seen?
 |
| A common image displayed in many African American households. |
The athletic frame suddenly appeared to be stout. His eyes drooped low childishly. How could those lips speak something so foolishly? The perfect piece of chocolate was melting before me.
“Ummm”, I mumbled softly. The coldness had suddenly begun to pierce through my throat. Words and thoughts that I wanted to speak couldn’t get pass the iciness. Once enticed by this beautifully stupid man standing before me, the only emotions I could summon were of disappointment. Similar memories started to flutter within me.
Unlike many of my fellow darker skinned sisters, I don’t have any bad recollections of being teased because of my complexion. I was raised in a family that ran the color gamete. My family features many beautiful shades and hues of brown that are rooted all over our genetic tree. Throughout my history in school, I always managed to be classed with a variety of complexions. Because of my background, as I started growing into a young woman, I was shocked at the amount of paradoxical attention I received about my skin.
One of the very first contradictory and complex images I have about my color happened when I was about sixteen years old. At that point, puberty had finally subsided. I had finally transition from an awkward young teen into a beautiful young woman. I remember walking down the street and being approached by a guy who I was very physically attracted to. Before my attraction got a chance to even settle, he said loudly to me, “Damn, girl! You sexy as s**t for a dark skin girl! If I dated dark skin girls, I would try to make you my girl!”
A common image seen in many African American househould depicting the range of shades within the community.
And this was the beginning of my paradox.
At sixteen, I was confused. This young man had definitely complimented me, but he had also disrespected me within the exact same words. Before this point, I had been unaware of my complexion. It was as if a new light had begun to shine on my skin, a light that was neither negative nor positive, but just rather uncomfortable. And years later, while pumping gas at a Sunoco, the light was shining just as bright as it has ever been.
This chocolate man at the gas station was obviously confused by my sudden coldness. He sensed that the vibe had changed, said, “Have a good day, sweetheart,” and walked sheepishly back to his car.
Disappointment still weighed in the pit of my stomach. I wasn’t sad because of a lost love connection. I was sad that this man, made beautiful by his own dark complexion, couldn’t see the self-hatred he held towards mine. It is a daily occurrence for me to interact with blacks who are plagued with issues involving skin complexion. As many obstacles and prejudices that our race has overcome throughout our history of being oppressed, so many of us continue to intimidate each other by negative thoughts involving skin tones. This is perhaps, in my opinion, the only serious issue that has plagued our ancestors in their horrid first beginnings in this country and is STILL affecting us currently.
On a daily basis, I’m listening to appalling childhood stories of someone being teased terribly because they were “too dark”. I know people who were ostracized from their family because they weren’t “light enough”. At bars and lounges, I have to deal with beautiful dark skin women trying to trip me or purposely spill drinks on my clothes because they feel as though I am “competition”. I lost a friend who recently revealed to me that she felt more comfortable being my friend since she was “light” and I was “dark”.
Every day I get approached by men and women who tell me how pretty I am for a “dark skinned” female. Every day, I find myself interacting with someone who tells me that they prefer “lighter” to “darker”. Since African Americans are so brainwashed about this issue, these comments have sadly became a part of normal conversation. I think people are completely unaware of how dismal, hateful and oppressing these remarks can be.
I encourage everyone to reflect back on their day. I am positive that there was a moment where a remark was made by someone that involved the discrimination of our culture because of our skin colors. Instead of treating these ideas and comments like common wordplay, they should be halted in mid-sentence. We should stop encouraging this self-loathing separation of our community.
The same day of my gas station incident, the color battled continued. I’ll leave this essay with one last anecdote. At school, while waiting in line for some food to be prepped in the cafeteria, I noticed two younger girls having a shameful discussion about one of their friend’s recent pregnancy.
“Girl,” said one, while rolling her green eyes and clucking her tongue, “Angie better pray that baby come out cute. Both her and Lamont black as hell with nappy a** hair”. She and her companion laughed loudly. The companion flipped her curly hair behind her shoulder. “You so wrong! I’ve seen some cute black babies before!”
“I haven’t!” said green eyes, and they both continued to laugh.
We still have a lot of work to do.
~Amity Nathaniel