who I wanted to be.
Yes I am Black and I am glad that I am. I am proud to be a woman, and a wife, and a mom. I love that I have curly hair and that I sneeze whenever I cough. I can tell a great joke and I am a pretty good listener, but—
I am not defined by any of these things because:
Who I am is far greater than the sum of my best and worst parts.
And you?
Are you simply white or woman or mother or chief or shy or funny or “morning person” or any other label that might be assigned?
Who I am, who any of us are, has far less to do with other peoples stuff AND everything to do with how we will allow ourselves to be defined. To my classmates in kindergarten, Black meant something bad and they tried to push that meaning off on me. To my Dad Black was something to defend and then wear like an honorable badge of defiance.
But me—
I choose to see Black as something that I can love being; as something that I can choose. I choose it as something very beautiful to be, because I choose it—
to be me.
Dana
From our Travel section: Firenze, Italy: Italian Lessons
