From Black Voices/Rebecca Carroll — Having a white friend who has adopted a black child, and bearing witness to the process from the get go, feels alternately like receiving some sort of epically heartbreaking gift, and time-traveling on a really high-quality hallucinogen. When my friend, who I will call Alice, and her husband were first meeting with the birth mother then pregnant with the child they hoped to adopt, Alice told me the first thing this woman asked was: “Do you know how to handle black hair?” To which Alice responded, “Well, no. But I have a friend who does.” I look at little Zahara Jolie-Pitt, as cute as she is, and I think, does Angelina Jolie have no black friends whatsoever?

My mom did not have any black friends, which you’d likely have been able to tell by looking at my own head of unkempt hair as a child (that’s me, below), but she did manage to find me a black dance teacher, who wore her hair in a lovely, understated Afro. I didn’t mirror her look knowingly, but I’m sure her Afro made me feel less freakish about mine.

When my friend, who I will call Alice, and her husband were first meeting with the birth mother then pregnant with the child they hoped to adopt, Alice told me the first thing this woman asked was: “Do you know how to handle black hair?” To which Alice responded, “Well, no. But I have a friend who does.” I look at little Zahara Jolie-Pitt, as cute as she is, and I think, does Angelina Jolie have no black friends whatsoever?

My mom did not have any black friends, which you’d likely have been able to tell by looking at my own head of unkempt hair as a child (that’s me, below), but she did manage to find me a black dance teacher, who wore her hair in a lovely, understated Afro. I didn’t mirror her look knowingly, but I’m sure her Afro made me feel less freakish about mine.


(Continue Reading @ Black Voices …)

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