“This doll is gorgeous, just like you.” Almost every day I remember those words that were spoken to me the day I received what would be my favorite doll. Every day I cherish that moment and that doll became a portal that allowed my mind to step into framework in which it had not been before.

“Ho ho ho!” I watched as my classmates ran towards the red figure in the room—Santa Claus. To this day, I am not sure why but I have never cared for the falsely obese man in the red suit. I sat in a corner while I watched the man hand gifts to my classmates. My kindergarten class was fairly small, so small that everyone got at least two gifts a piece. My teacher walked over to me and handed me a doll and a yellow blanket. Sure, I was super excited that I received a blanket because who doesn’t love blankets? However, my face became a permanent frown the moment I laid eyes on the doll.

Looking back, it was a cute doll; any kid my age would have been grateful to have a doll that came with a change of clothing, a hairbrush and hair accessories. At the time, all I saw was the skin tone—black. I did not want a black doll, I wanted a lighter doll, a doll that did not look like me. I looked around and saw that my friend Saquoiya had a white doll. Once she was away from her doll, I switched her doll and mine and played with the white doll. Of course, my friend came back and confronted me about the doll. “That doll is mine, you took it,” I can vividly remember her saying. I simply shook my head and continued to play with “my” doll.

Later on, my teacher approached me, asking me about the doll and why I switched it. I shrugged my shoulders and reluctantly gave the doll back to my friend.

When I got home that day, my mom sat me on her lap and she asked me about the doll situation. I knew that what I did was wrong, but I really didn’t want that doll. My mom planted a kiss on my cheek and rocked me in her arms as she whispered, “Being black is not bad. Being black is a beautiful thing and nothing to be ashamed of. Just because she is darker than all the others does not make her any less beautiful. This doll is gorgeous, just like you.”

On social media, I often see posts that hold lighter skin tones in a higher regard than darker skin tones—almost as if there is something wrong with having darker skin. Not only do these posts promote racism, but they expand beyond my computer screen. I cannot begin to explain how many times I have been teased due to my skin color. I have been denied opportunities because of my skin color. One time, one of my classmates told me that she could not be my friend outside of school because her parents were not fond of black people. Yes, all of these situations have hurt me deeply, but every time I felt rejected, dejected or every time my heart grew heavy, I always had that moment with my mom to look back on.

My racial insecurities did not stop at five years old, they still exist to this day. In fact, they only intensified once I was accepted into the Urban Suburban program, which allows students who live in the city to attend school in the suburbs. I attended predominantly white schools but still lived in an area with very low graduation rates and to say that that was a challenge is an understatement.

When I arrived at Pittsford Schools a year later, I was initially upset because I was attending a school of white dolls. At first, I did not even want to open my mind to the possibility of being around people I knew nothing about. It took me a few weeks to adjust, but I strongly believe that the doll served as a portal for my mind—a portal that provided me with the mentality that I needed to adjust to a school full of the white dolls I’d always seen myself as less than. Attending Pittsford schools not only allowed me to become more educated on the trials and tribulations that African Americans have faced, but it allowed me to better comprehend the lives that other people live. There was an entire spectrum of lifestyles that I would not have encountered until much later in life and for that reason I am forever grateful for the opportunities that the Urban Suburban Program has placed on my doorstep.

Since that day I have made dozens of friends that gave me the exposure I needed to become a better thinker, a better student, and a better person. The most important take-away I had from that day was that differences are not always negative. More often than not, they are magical and serve as portals that allow people to jump outside their social, cultural, religious or even political realm and into the universe of another. They are something to be embraced, not feared. They are beautiful—just like the doll and just like me.

My mom spoke simply to me that day, but her words resonated deeply. The kind of beautiful that she was referred to is not just superficial, it is ubiquitous. It is the kind of beautiful that resided not just on the outside, but in the mind. It is the kind of beautiful that has allowed me not to fall to ignorance, but to educate myself in the best ways possible. The lesson that I learned in kindergarten is a lesson that I will always refer to and take with me wherever I go; it’s a lesson that every little girl should learn... the most beautiful person that you can be is yourself.

By the way, I still have the doll.