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I was running around my house in a black one piece bathing suit and remember looking down at my stomach, thinking that it stuck out too much.
I immediately sprinted outside in the daylight to get a better look and make sure I wasn’t fat.
“You have no a**, Erica” one guy commented at one of these parties as LL Cool J’s “Big Ole Butt” blasted through speakers, while another told me he was willing to deal with my lack of a chest because I had “an a** like a dancer.” Many of the songs on the radio by black artists seemed to put emphasis on parts of the body that I was lacking.
I felt a certain pride in hanging out with people who were Dominican, Indonesian, Laos, Filipino, Hispanic, etc. My parents taught me good morals, like not judging others by their appearance, though I did have to keep my jaw clenched when I visited relatives.
They would ask me about the “colored kids” at my job as a camp counselor and spoke the word “bi-racial” in hushed tones, as if it were something to be ashamed of.
He showed me new music, food, and gave me a new perspective to consider.
His family welcomed me with open arms and I am a better person because of it.