“Why not?”
“Because that’ll just make it worse.”
“What are they doing or saying?”
“They mostly make fun of my shoes and how I dress.”
Although I was well aware of what Keelan wore, I looked at his outfit. Nothing stood out about the black T-shirt, light denim shorts that hit his knees, and black gym shoes. Everything fit well, was in good condition, and matched.
“What’s wrong with your clothes?”
“Nothing, Mom, but they aren’t name brand.”
“Your shoes are.”
“Yeah, but they aren’t the latest or most popular.”
Keelan was ten years old and growing faster than I could keep up. I wasn’t broke, but the idea of spending a lot of money on name-brand clothes didn’t make sense to me. He’d only wear the items a few times before they were too small, but I didn’t want him to be bullied because of my conservative spending habits.
“Do you want to get some name-brand things?”
He shook his head before saying, “No. I don’t care what they think or say about me. They’re just annoying.”
“Are you sure? I can?—”
“It’s fine, Ma. I know I grow really fast, and I don’t want you to spend lots of money on stuff I won’t be able to wear for long.”
We arrived at our house and stopped in front of it.
“You're such a thoughtful child. Most boys your age don’t think about stuff like that, and if they do, they don’t care abouthaving their parents spend their money. Thank you for being so considerate.”
“I know how hard you worked for us to leave Dad, and to have our own house. I like it much better with just us.”
I pulled him into a hug and kissed his forehead.
“Me too, baby. Is that all that was bothering you?”
My heart sank when he didn’t immediately respond with a yes.
“Keelan, is there something else you need to tell me?”
“It’s not just my clothes they make fun of.” He paused. “They make fun of my skin too.”
I was sure I knew what he meant, but still asked for clarification.
“What do you mean?”
“They talk about how dark I am, calling me blacky, crispy, and stuff like that.”
“Are these kids Black?”
“Yes, Mom. You know almost all the kids at my school are Black.”
I was fuming but did my best to hide it from him. I couldn’t believe that in this day and age, Black kids still made fun of other Black kids because of their skin tone. Black parents needed to do better because this shouldn’t still be happening.
If I’d grown up before the Civil Rights Era, I wouldn’t have passed the brown paper bag test, and on occasion, as a child, I was made fun of for my rich melanin. Keelan was darker than I was because he inherited his shade of brown from his father.
Victor was blessed with smooth, deep chocolate skin, and it was one of the things that attracted me to him before I knew he was a narcissistic asshole. I’d always taught Keelan to love the skin he was in because I knew he would encounter people who wanted him to think less of himself because he was Black.
