That I think about slavery every day. And have for as long as I can remember. Every time I look into my eyes, big and brown like Harriet’s and Sojourner’s and the thousands whose names I’ll never know. Every time I write my own name, “Allen” isn’t native to Jamaica.
Read MoreWhat's In My Hair
The long white spikes dig in and pull at the tight curls. Every time the brush goes through I scream, aware that my father might come in and tell me to be quiet. Bunday. That’s what I call it, “the weekly torture fest” when my mother wrestles with my unruly hair, tugging and wrangling it atop my head into a perfect ballet bun. So I can fall in line, dance for a mirror and learn Grace and Control.
Read MoreIf Little Girls Could Only
"Coming out As Bi-Racial" by Stephanie Georgopulos
The author and her sister from left to right.
The author and her sister from left to right.
A few months ago, I not-so-subtly asserted myself as biracial while having dinner with a new coworker. “I’m a Capricorn,” she’d said. “Yeah…my mom’s black,” I responded (not verbatim, but the exchange was similar). Whoa. What? Immediately after I injected that part of my identity into the conversation, I had a come-to-Jesus moment. What was I doing? Did I always do this when I met new people?
Read MoreWhite Man Meets Black Woman
On my last day in Asheville I was at a juice bar and this white man sitting at the counter overheard me telling the owners about my project. He said, you have to come to my studio. I said Why?
Read MoreThe Little Boy Said
“I hope when the police come to get me they shoot me in the leg and not the head so I can get a new one”
Tafari said this to his mom after seeing his 13 year old neighbor tackled by police. Police presence is such a constant in his North Carolina neighborhood that at 4 years old he already assumes they'll be coming for him.