Take THAT racial inferiority complex, HA!
A few days ago, Iman was sitting at the dining table next to me coloring when she put down her crayons and pouted.
“Momma, which crayon is my skin? It’s not this one,” she said, holding up the Caucasian “skin-tone” crayon.
“And it’s not this one,” she said, holding up the brown crayon. “Which crayon is my skin?”
I leaned over and started poking around in the plastic tupperware that holds Iman’s treasure trove of crayons.
“Hmm, I don’t see any crayons in here that are the same color as you dear. Sorry sweetheart, we don’t have any caramel colored crayons.”
“Caramel?” Iman said, still pouting.
“Caramel is a beautiful warm golden color. Caramel is a kind of candy.”
Iman’s eyes practically popped. “I’m the color of… candy?”
“Yes dear, but we don’t have any crayons that color. Sorry. Looks like we need to buy you more crayons.”
Later that day, HF came home and Iman ran excitedly to him. “Baba baba!” she said, jumping up and down, “Did you know, I’m caramel colored??”
“Are you?” HF said, looking to me suspiciously.
(HF, I’ve decided, is dulche de leche.)
“Yes!” Iman squealed, “It’s a kind of a candy!”
Because all skin colors are good skin colors, the same way that all ice cream is good ice cream.
So, what flavor are you? :p