Being the only Black girl growing up in Arizona in the eighties wasn’t easy, but it helped me in so many ways become an adaptable adult.
Seeing my dad here in all of his afro’d glory, looking suave in a faux silk shirt and pleated polyester pants makes me happy for some reason. My mom was looking quite fab herself in a skirt suit, hair feathered and highlighted to perfection.
One of my earliest memories was when I was about two or three and I was given a music box for my birthday. It was a wooden box painted in pink and when you opened it, a ballerina popped out….