I couldn’t walk with my
mother, either; a light-skinned child
with a black woman would raise too
many questions. When I was a
newborn, she could wrap me up and
take me anywhere, but very quickly
that was no longer an option. I was
a giant baby, an enormous child.
When I was one you’d have thought
I was two. When I was two, you’d
have thought I was four. There was
no way to hide me.
My mom, same as she’d done
with her flat and with her maid’s
uniforms, found the cracks in the
system. It was illegal to be mixed
(to have a black parent and a white