Niece

So about a week ago, I was invited to the birthday dinner of my niece, who is going into the sixth grade. “Neice” is someone I adore, and have been close friends with her mother since about ’95.

Today I was having lunch, a rare treat, with her mother, who said, “Niece asked me if you knew that she knew that you’re gay. I told her I wasn’t sure, but she could talk to you about it the next time she sees you.”

Jump back a week to her birthday dinner when I took a look at her hair and said, “Niece. Have you been swimming?” and of course she’s been swimming all summer. And I had to tell her, “You are not a little white girl. You have to take care of your hair. You need to wear a swim cap and put some conditioner on your hair. I know them little white girls don’t, but you need to.”

Jump back to today. Her mother tells me, “She said “He doesn’t act gay until he says, “Girl, you need to do something with your hair!””

As I dropped the Mom back off at her work place for lunch, she said, “I’ll tell Niece that you know she knows you’re gay.” I retorted, “Tell her I’m more worried about whether or not she’s put conditioner in her hair!”

It’s entirely possible I’ve been put on this earth just to help little black girls know they need to condition their hair different than little white girls.