Black people, like paint swatches, come in an array of shades. We can be a deep, rich mahogany, a creamy, smooth caramel, a bold, mysterious ebony, or even a blend of the three. One single shade does not signify “black.” If skin tone did come in the form of paint swatches, my mother would be pretty close to the top and my father around the middle, making me fall somewhere in between the two.

As I glance at my legs, now brown from the summer months and run my hand over my unpermed edges, there is no question that I am, and will always be black. Any hair is good hair. Any skin tone is a good skin tone. Any person that God took special care in designing is worth appreciating.

My tan may wane like the daylight in the coming days of fall and winter, and my hair my straighten like tree branches no longer weighed down with leaves but my love for what makes me me, skin tone included, surpasses any element of nature human too.