Is Black still: learning to be Black and beautiful

My mother called it "learning to be White." That was the phrase she gave to that moment when little White girls and boys unconsciously arrive at the notion that somehow their fairer skin made them better. In the same way, even though my mother deliberately surrounded my younger brother and sister and me with strong black role models and other reinforcements of our beauty and worth, I struggled with the notion that anything Black was beautiful. Even me.

Quite honestly, growing up, I never considered myself to be beautiful. Born of mixed heritage with a German father and a mother with Afro-Latino, French Creole and Tunica Indian roots, I stuck out in my predominantly White elementary school in the affluent Buckhead neighborhood of Atlanta. While I had friends who would undoubtedly keep my company and gladly allow me into their homes, I always knew there was a difference between us--both by appearance and socialization.

At the end of the day, I am Black. "They" had long locks of beautiful blonde or brunette hair that flowed in the wind. While, I had long locks of a curly mess that always managed to get tangled as it fell down my back. "They" had perfect porcelain skin while I had a tanner, sand brown complexion that made me feel dark. I felt the only thing that connected mc to them were my hazel green eyes, a gift from both my father and mother, with blue and hazel eyes, respectively.

It sounds childish now, but from the time I was in the first grade, I had a little crush on a boy in my class. He was White and from an upper-middle-class family. And of course, he paid no attention to me. Throughout elementary school, I'd find myself standing from a distance watching him chasing, teasing, and playing with other girls, but never me. Was I not pretty? Was I not smart? Was I not fun to be around? Or had he already "learned to be White?"

After elementary school, I started middle school at a private girls' school, but soon transferred to my neighborhood public school, where my whole perspective would change.

One afternoon, as we pulled out of the car pool line at school, my mother noticed a pack of boys watching us. "Which one of them is interested in you, Katie?" she asked with a grin, recognizing the star-struck gaze of adolescence. "It would be easier to tell you which of them isn't," I replied. All of them were Black.

Suddenly, I had friends from other neighborhoods, significantly further down and further up the economic strata. There were many more Black faces in my circle of friends as well. And ultimately, despite the tony confines of my early childhood, I figured out that my Black friends and I were more alike than different. That we shared many of the same struggles, that the world, by and large, saw us all in the same light.

What I did not know is that the lessons of race, gender and culture would even play themselves out in the dynamic between my younger sister, Haley, and me. While my physical assets brought--and my hard work in the classroom earned--significant opportunities and soaring popularity, my darker-skinned sister has had to fight for everything. What I did not know then is that she longed to look like me. She wanted long hair, light eyes and other physical characteristics more common among Whites. She didn't like her toasted pecan skin and broad nose. She was the antithesis of what popular media said was beautiful. The resulting pain manifested itself in numerous ways too personal to describe here. And I was in pain too. It hurt to watch her live in a suffering [situation] that I could not assuage, to know that somehow I was the source of some of that pain--just for being me.

Today, we both attend Atlanta's Grady High School, a predominantly Black, though ethnically diverse, inner-city school. I am a senior, and Haley will be a sophomore this fall.

Certainly, my sister and I are stronger, more resourceful and capable for the full range of our experiences. Haley, who has emerged as a beautiful, thoughtful young woman in her own right, will work as a church camp counselor. Her beauty, and quite frankly the sophisticated manner in which she has embraced it, continues to attract much attention from suitors who don't stand a chance!

That said, we agree that Black is indeed beautiful. That realization came not from learning to be Black or watching others cross the consciousness threshold of being White. But learning to value ourselves for who and what we are. Tonight, as I slip on my iPod and cue up a mix of Mary J. Blige, Luther Vandross and, yes, a little Tony Bennett, I know that it's really about learning to be human, and accepting both the power and frailty of that.

Katherine Van Heidrich, 17, is an honors student at Grady High School in Atlanta.

COPYRIGHT 2007 Johnson Publishing Co.
COPYRIGHT 2008 Gale, Cengage Learning