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Those Little F**kers

Given my current emotional state, this may have little filter.

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Oh those little fuckers.

ABC / Via

I'm feeling pretty heated right now. You know the type of pissed off you feel to the point of tears because you want to fight someone? Well, right now I want to kick children. Yes, I said it. I want to kick children.

Given my current emotional state, this may have little filter.

I’ll admit it. I’ve been feeling my blackness, yes BLACKNESS, lately. I can’t even lie.

@nattylinn / Via Instagram

I get online, I stalk the fuck out of Instagram, and find all of these amazing accounts celebrating black women, celebrating our hair (no matter how we choose to wear it), our beauty, our uniqueness, our melanin, our "juice." I drink the Kool Aid, it is grape flavored, mind you. Ask anyone, I have loved myself for a long time, but within the past few years I have started loving myself even more. I'm sure it's a combination of things. Possibly the way my husband puts his arms around my waist and his chin on my shoulder and whispers to me how he loves my fro, maybe it's the fact that the fullness of my lips are appreciated, and maybe it's just seeing all of these other beautiful women in different shades of chocolate being celebrated to the max. I don't know what it is, but I am definitely feeling my blackness right now and this is something I've decided to pass on to my child.

This weekend I started to do some things different with my baby’s hair.

@bigeyed_bee / Via

This weekend I put her hair in bantu knots for the first time. It took over an hour, but it was worth it. The entire time I spoke to her and explained to her why her hair, curls, and kinks are awesome. I explained to her how to take care of her hair. I told her about how she has to be gentle with it because of the coils. The next morning I took her hair down and pinned her fro into a pineapple. She was obsessed. She ran to the mirror in the other room and came back with her eyes glistening and a smile that wouldn't quit. "I LOVE IT," she said before hugging me and prancing off. My heart was so full. I want her to grow up being confident in herself no matter how different her hair or skin might look from the people she deals with everyday. I want her to know that she is beautiful and not to be compared to others. The next day she went to a Valentine's Day party and I pulled part of her hair back into a ponytail and did four bantu knots in the front. Before she went to bed that night I asked her how she wanted me to do her hair the next day. She decided that she wanted me to recreate her Valentine's Day hair.

The next morning, I styled her hair and sent her on her way. She even took a selfie for her grandparents. I felt good about myself. I was happy about the fact that we were trying new and interesting (to me at least) ways to do her hair. I also felt like it represented our culture and some of the amazing things that she can do with her hair.

The other six-year-olds at school didn't feel the same.

The CW / Via

Tonight, before she went to sleep she confided in me.

"Mommy, the kids at school were calling me doo doo head."

First of all, how unoriginal is that? #lame. Secondly, I understand that children get picked on from time to time and it's a part of growing up. Everyone gets bullied, period. It's going to happen. You cannot protect your kids from all of it. It's part of life. Before the internet and social media, they use to get picked on at the bus stop, at school, in the neighborhood, at the basketball game for the kids in the city… it happens, but when my baby told me this… there was an anger that rolled up inside of me.

How dare they?!

I was beyond pissed. I'm still pissed even as I pen this article. My entire body aches right now. It's ridiculous. The thing is, this moment wasn't about me or how I felt. This is about my kid. This is about my daughter and how she will deal with maintaining her confidence in the future and me providing her with those tools to make it happen. I stared into her eyes. I'm sure mine were glazed over.

I was starting to feel a little crazy.


The type of crazy you feel when you are who you know you are, but apparently they don't know, and it's time to explain. That kind of crazy. I broke into a smile that turned into light laughter, hugged her and said, "Baby, they were teasing you because they like your hair. It's different and interesting and they don't know how to say it, so they pick on you. Your hair defies gravity and the sun loves your beautiful skin. How wonderful are you? Their hair can't do what yours can. You hair is amazing and they just don't know how to say it." Disclaimer: I've read the quote, "…with skin that soaks up the sun and hair that defies gravity…" multiple times. I am not certain as to where it originated, but how fly is that? She was reassured. The light came back into her eyes and they beamed as she hugged me.


Oh those fuckers. They are trying to break my baby's confidence and I refuse to let that happen. I'm going to fight for it by being an example and pouring love into her on the daily as if it was a vitamin. She will know that her black is beautiful.

When I was younger I was picked on.

@nattylinn / Via

I was picked on for the deepness of my voice and the fact that I spoke properly. There was a short period in the beginning of my school years that my parents sent me to private school. When I was at home, my family spoke proper English and corrected me whenever I'd make grammatical errors. My mother loved to read and instilled this in me. She provided me with the illustrated classics such as "20,000 Leagues Under the Sea," "Sherlock Holmes," and "Great Expectations." My brother and I traveled. My parents had me involved with local activities such as a theatre chorus, ballet, and cheerleading. Now I didn't always stay in those programs, but you get the point. They were preparing me for something more, which we're still trying to cash in on, am I right, mom and dad?! Class of 2016… or 2017

Anyways, instead of accepting me for who I was as a person, people would pick on me. Sometimes they would call me an "Oreo" or tell me that I sound like a white girl or say that I wanted to be a white girl. These things didn't affect me to the point that I would go home and cry, but their words made me feel self conscious. To be completely honest, it still affects me today. If I am alone and I meet a group of black people, I usually don't speak much until I get to know everybody one-on-one. It might seem like I am stuck up, but it's really just something that still sticks with me. Of course, I know I'm fabulous, obviously, but I feel like people, my people, jump to conclusions whenever the first syllable comes out of my mouth and I don't have an accent and I'm not well versed in ebonics.

On the other end of the spectrum, my husband was taunted for being "too dark." Why do we treat each other this way? Why can't we just live and love? Why can't we just accept that the beauty in the world is in hidden within our differences? Why can't my baby just wear her hair and be celebrated?

Sidenote: No children were kicked during the writing of this article, nor will they be.

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