Shout out to every redboned militant in my family who knew the deal. Who lovingly painted angels brown so their babies would feel welcome at Christmastime. Who shook their heads and chuckled at the women using umbrellas on sunny days so that their little girls would see how ridiculous it looked, and how sad it would be to deprive the skin of sunshine.
Shout out to the light-brights who wove art into Afros while their wavy locks snapped in summer breezes. Who bought chocolate-hued Barbies by the armload. Who told their daughters that God made them the color they were because they were as sweet as cinnamon and should look like it too. Who used jobs their fair skin clearly afforded them to feed a family so very many shades of black.
Shout out to the high yellows who knew that the road would be hard for the daughters they sired who had been cloaked in the skin of the men they loved so, so deeply. Who were furious that the world would try to deny their children their rightful place by their side in all things. And so they would do all they could to support them and love them, to do battle until the world loved and supported them too.