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I could love my skin and also love Britney Spears and country music.Blackness isn’t homogeneous, but it took me a while to see that.However, as I strolled past this man’s cart full of baby wipes, pull-up diapers, fresh fruit and his own box of Rice Krispies, I felt an immense amount of guilt.

That all came to a screeching halt when he, fully aware of my crush on him, teased me in front of my friends at my 13th birthday party.

I was criticized for my preppy wardrobe and my music tastes, and on more than one occasion I was accused of wanting to be white.

As time passed, I realized that being black didn’t mean I had to look or act a certain way.

I walked down the cereal aisle in the grocery store, determined to finish my shopping list.

As I skimmed my eyes across the rows of boxes, I landed on what I was looking for: a jumbo box of Rice Krispies.“Good choice,” a deep, bellowing voice confirmed.

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