I feel him. I feel you. I grew up mixed race and white presenting. My eyes are blue. My skin is milky white despite having a Black father. I somehow got my mother's complexion. Oh, wait thought....the hair! Yup. Thick, frizzy, unruly, unable to be tamed by anything ! More hair than 8 average people. I longed for white girl hair. I longed for feathered bangs (it was the 80s) and flowing smooth locks. Nope, not ever gonna happen.

I used to go to bed with a nylon stocking over my freshly washed hair to get the hair I longed for. I snipped the upper leg part so I wouldn't choke to death. What I got was flat curls that were cute for a minute. An hour later...the beast was back.

At 53, I wear my crown with pride. I let it fly, big, bold and beautiful, every kinky strand a testament to the resilience and pride of my ancestors who were stolen, enslaved and persevered.

It's not much consolation for a kid. I get that. But I know where he is. I've been where he is. It does get better.