My Brown Skin
When I was a child, my world revolved around two people whom I believed were firm and important for me; these people were my parents, Enrique and Martha. I grew up in a family of one boy and four girls. Their names are Carlos, Anna, Elizabeth and Erika. We lived in Parral, Chih., Mexico, which in those times was a small town. My surroundings were happy and comfortable but without any big excesses. I never had any fears nor concerns.
I was raised on a street where everything was close to my house. There was a park where we used to enjoy playing, riding a bicycle, skating, and jumping rope. The Virgin of the Ray Church was where we went to mass on Sundays and we presented flowers to the Virgin in May. At my elementary school, Federico Stallforth, we attended classes. There was also a market which sold fruits, vegetables, meats and groceries. We had a lot of neighbors.
My Mother was an only daughter and she is a beautiful white-skinned woman. My Grandmother lived with us and she was a beautiful white-skinned woman too. Her name was Adela, but we used to call her Guegue. Even though my Grandfather and my Grandmother were separated, they never got a divorce, but I think that for my Grandmother this situation was hard.
Writing about this makes memories of my childhood come to my mind, and I remember my Grandmother as a person that never loved me because my skin was brown like my father’s. I was about six years old when I began to notice that my Guegue always made a distinction between my sister Anna, who is one year older than me, and me. As if it were yesterday, I remember my mother used to dress us in the same clothes but different colors. My Grandmother always had flatteries for Anna. She would say, ”You look pretty, Annita, with this pink dress,” but she never said anything nice to me. Another memory is when we came home with our grades. She always congratulated only Anna for her grades although my grades were always straight A’s.
Time passed and when we were teenagers her feelings for me got worse. When Anna and I went to a party, she always said nice words to Anna, “You look beautiful and your hair is gorgeous, Annita.” She never had any compliments for me, but at the parties I was the one who danced with the most popular or handsome boy. I thought that my dark-skin was a strength to me. Different things such as getting good grades, learning to play piano, learning to dance, painting and helping my father in his work were more important to me than thinking of what was beautiful.
Sometimes under her breath, I would hear my Grandmother say, “I hate dark-skinned people.” She knew I could hear her but instead of resenting this or being sad, I thought, ”Why is my Guegue an unhappy, bitter person?” I never said anything to her, but my sister Anna always stood up for me. She often told my Grandmother that she was a bitter person.
Even though I never received any kind words from my Grandmother, my father and my mother always gave me good compliments. I think that the security I got from my parents shielded me from any negative feeling I might have felt.
My relationship with my Grandmother was always complicated, and I never spoke about this with my parents, but when I grew up my feelings for her definitely changed. I finally came to love her and forgive her because I understood that she had a lot of sadness in her heart.
It’s never too late to have a happy childhood.
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