Black Doll, Like Me

As an eight year-old girl, it wasn’t my intention to make a political statement: I simply wanted a baby doll for Christmas that year.

However, it wasn’t just any baby doll: It was a Black baby doll.

It made perfect sense for me to have a doll that looked like me. After all, I had a Black mother. So…why shouldn’t I, as a Black “mother” have a Black “baby”?

Two Christmases later, my parents gifted me with a second Black baby doll. Incidentally, I didn’t specifically request the second baby doll, but, my parents were at that point in time well aware of my preference.

My mother and I talked about my baby dolls about a year ago. She – my mother – found it strange that I would ask for a Black baby doll. Especially since race was not something my parents focused much on in my childhood home. Additionally, my mother was a child during the 1930s and 1940s, and, the only baby dolls available at the local store in her town were White. Therefore, my mother had only White baby dolls. The fact that I was even allowed to exercise a preference 30 years later was significant progress, which was due to the Civil Rights and Black Power Movements, i.e. “I’m Black and I’m proud!”

My brother and I weren’t raised to be color-blind. To the contrary: we were well aware of what race was. From a very early age, we were exposed to many different types of people. Furthermore, we were raised with a solid grounding in our family history, and who we were as Black people. However, race was not discussed in negative and denigrating ways. Thus, my brother and I weren’t phased by the races, ethnicities and religions of my parents’ friends and colleagues, not to mention our doctors and dentists, and people we saw on daily basis, such as teachers, classmates, neighbors and our beloved babysitter. One’s race was something we accepted as a natural part of one’s being. It didn’t matter to us, in MJ’s immortal words, “if you were Black or White”, or any other color. We saw race – with both eyes and mind – and we were fully aware of it. But, race was as esoteric to us as washing one’s face.

In reflecting on my baby dolls – which reside at the family compound – and on that experience, I believe that they were indicators of a child who possessed a very healthy sense of self – as a girl, and as a person of color. I hope my parents know and understand that, and for which I give them mad props.

What are your childhood memories and recollections about race and racial awareness?