A story for MLK Day
By Una LaMarche
When I was a little girl, I loved chocolate. There are countless photos of me with it all over my face. I didn’t just love the taste of chocolate; I loved its deep, rich color, too, and as a result I loved all black people. I was, I am told, beside myself that I was so pasty and white.
One day, my mother and I were on the bus and I was seated next to a young African-American boy with very dark brown skin. I stared at him reverently, as he, I imagine, shifted slowly away from the crazy-eyed white girl. And then, unable to contain myself, I spoke.
“I love chocolate.”
I pretty much realized Dr. King’s dream right there on the M4.
P.S. Yes, I know this is a repost from 2007; I'm not trying to put one over on you. It's just that I worked for seven hours straight live-blogging the Golden Globes last night and I'm spent. I know, I know, cry you a river. I'll do a fashion post tomorrow, promise.