Does the color of my skin tell my story? Not so sure that it does. Many assume they know ones suffering. But not even we ourselves truly understand what we’ve endured until we have a chance to sit back and see it all before us.
I never realized that I once was a friend to another because her mother didn’t want others to see her as a racist. So how was I chosen? What did she see in me that she didn’t see in others? I later learned that I was chosen because “I didn’t really seem or act black”. Only later in life did I learn that my mother was Cherokee Indian but my father was African American, Blackfoot Indian and European (Scottish, German and Irish). I wondered how could my friends mother have seen that in me?
I further remember doing customer service work for the phone company and when I finally met one of our vendors the first thing she said to me was “you and your voice tricked me, I can’t believe you’re black”. My heart sank and I held back the tears that were pushing forward in my eyelids that were barely strong enough for the impossible job.
I remember when I got my second big-time job working for an insurance company. I was told I was their “token” employee. At the time they told me, I didn’t realize that I was hired to fill a quota. I had hoped it was because I was the best qualified to do the job. Despite all of that, we became one of the best work families that I remember.
I’ve always tried to teach my children to be proud of and take hold of every part of who and what they are. What others think is not important as they dont have to live in your skin.
Today, I work on sharing what I know and continue to learn with others so that they might understand and also teach those who want to learn what it means to live as a person of color.
Living in My Skin© by Felina Silver
Copyright© January 2024
The Writings of Felina Silver 