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A sickening realization had dawned on me: my good grades didn’t matter, or the extra credit, the proper English, how faithful I was, how kind. None of it could ever erase the fact that people were going to hate me. My head felt heavy.
This realization will save you as a Black person.
I want to know, to really know, my mother as an adult, before it’s too late.
I really wish I could.
Dating a white man—marrying one, if it came to that—felt disloyal. I always thought I should end up with a fine upstanding brother, build up the community, have two beautiful brown-skinned children who would be a credit as well, advance their race, the cause.
This is the story of my life
Sometimes, as I lay beside him in bed, his pale body against mine, one word would float through my mind: “sellout.�
Same
