In a Race that Matters

… I was an insecure kid. I hated my dark complexion and my thick, curly, unruly hair. I was green with envy whenever I saw girls my age with baby-soft, milky-white skin and silky-straight hair. … I was frustrated with my dimple-less cheeks. Once, in my desire to have dimples just like my best friend Eric, I used the tip of an inkless pen and daily pressed it against my right cheek. (For a time, I could see that my constant pressing produced a hollow. Unfortunately, I couldn’t bear the pain I had to endure daily for this beauty regimen, so I threw the pen and the idea of a bedimpled face out of my mind.) -- I wanted to be a majorette and dancer like my best friend Lala, a singer like my lady-like classmate Jolica, and a declaimer like my cutie childhood chum Eric. … I was as thin as thin could be. The irony was, I never believed I was. I even resorted to reciting a poem during a nutrition month celebration when I was on the third grade, proudly delivering the following lines: