For some reason I thought of a day back in 4th grade when we had “Show and Tell.”  It’s the only “Show and Tell” I remember.  On this day, I decided to take one of my Cabbage Patches.  I had several.

I recall debating the night before, “Should I take ‘Marlon’ (who was named after my boyfriend from Kindergarten…the relationship ended in turmoil btw)?  Or should I opt for one of the other ambiguous Patches whose names changed based on how I happened to be feeling at the time?  I decided to take a female Cabbage Patch who had a male twin.  I left her brother at home because hey, they looked alike so nothing to see there.

The day of reckoning arrived and when I got up to discuss my Patch, no one had any questions except when one fellow student asked, “Why is it Black?”

Black?  My Cabbage Patch is Black?  I never noticed.  Isn’t everyone’s Black?  Is mine abnormal?  See back then, and even to this day, “Black” is rarity.  Companies produce a limited amount because hey, Black folks represent like 12% of the population and no White/Latina child wants a Black doll.  Anyhoo… I do not remember what I said in response to the Black question but I do recall the discussion thereafter.

See, there was another girl who brought a Cabbage Patch.  She was Black…or “High Yella” for those of you with issues.  Her Cabbage Patch was White.  She’d done her presentation after me and I recall feeling a sense of…”One of these kid’s is not like the other…one of these kids, is doing her own thing.”  It wasn’t so much that I was ashamed of my Cabbage Patch, but it was the accusatory tone of my “friends.”  WHY was my Cabbage Patch Black?

When the lil’ sista with the White Cabbage Patch sat down, we chatted as others listened on.  She said, “I like your Cabbage Patch better” while others referred to it as “ugly.”

I, due to the confusion and pressure assaulted upon me said, “I like yours.”  She offered to trade.  She wants to trade?  She wants this “ugly” doll?  Clearly there’s something wrong with her.  Why is this lone, “high yella” girl, coveting my Black baby?

It was at that point that I realized that I possessed something “special”… something that was unique and not every Black girl was privy to.  I didn’t want to trade.  I wish I had a doll that was acceptable but there was nothing wrong with my Baby.  I was privileged to have her.

As a child I didn’t fully get it but as an adult, I understand the power behind my Cabbage Patches.  My aunt, who worked retail at the time, would set aside Black Dolls, whether it be Barbie or Cabbage Patches or whatever to insure that my cousin Keisha and I never played with a White doll.  She understood something that I, at the time, could not.  It’s called, “Positive Reinforcement.”

See, you don’t question your beauty, your validity, your intelligence or your worth when those values are never called into question.  When you’re raised with the belief that you are equal to/better than, you don’t wish you had “good hair.”  You don’t long for lighter skin.  You realize, you are who you are and sometimes you’re this and sometimes you’re that.  But whatever you are, it’s alright with God, it’s alright with your family, it’s alright with the world and it’s alright with you.

I think that’s what makes me different from most Black women.  I think that’s what disables me from having a unique kinship with them.  I wasn’t raised in a Pro-Black environment.  I wasn’t raised in an ambiguous environment.  I was raised in an environment where love of self made sense.

To this day I feel out of place.  I don’t understand why Black women struggle to accept their hair.  I mean, I get it but is it that serious?  I mean that for both sides of the spectrum…those that love black hair and those who abhor it.  Or when I meet a guy who says he loves dark-skinned women, should I be offended or should I simply say Thank you?”

I was raised in an alternate reality.  A reality where my family never uttered the words nigger/nigga.  A reality where my hair was never regarded as “good” hair.  A reality where my skin was never referred to as “dark.”  Am I alone?

I can’t ignore the significance of my Cabbage Patches but I want to.   I desperately want to.  But doing so means I ignore the happy/funny reality of envisioning my aunt who is dark-skinned and 6′0, battling with women to grab Black dolls during Christmas season to insure that 1, I got what I wanted during Christmas and 2, I got something I never expected…self-love.

Thanks Aunt Trish!