Through a Child's Eyes

“You’re black and ugly, like your skirt.” This matter-of-fact statement from a stringy haired girl, 6 inches taller than me, a little Queen Witch, was dropped, like an mic or an F-Bomb, at my size 3 feet. I looked from her cold eyes, down to my black and white houndstooth, wrap-around ice skating skirt, that up until that moment, I thought I was rocking, and looked back up to see her skating off to rejoin her audience.

I was 8.

After recovering from stunned disbelief and my 3rd grade logic trying to figure out what I’d done to have such mean girl antics tossed my way, I slowly moved to skate an easy recovery lap and attempt another Bunny Hop for my upcoming evaluation. I couldn’t shake the sense of feeling “less-than” that had come over me. And further, what would I tell my parents who’d grown up during full scale race wars in the South. Would they ever let their little, suburban, brown girl skate at UTC any more?

I decided then and there not to utter a peep. Ice skating was more important than mean girls, even when my heart was in my throat each time I lapped the ice and got near her.

I decided then and there to hold my head up and do my thing, even if I had to do it alone or with people who thought I was black and ugly.

I decided I was strong and brave and a fighter. I also decided to know where exits are and that ice skates and a lot of other things, could make a nice weapon if need be.

I learned that being smart wasn’t just a matter of test scores, but knowing how to thrive and survive even when that meant hitting the ignore button and carrying on was the best option.

I wonder about that not so little stringy haired girl and wonder just how ugly she’s continued to be. But I know, this brown girl would skate laps around her now, I know just what to say and am spreading more love than she can hate. If she could only see me now.