There was something precious about watching Rudy Huxtable. Olivia Kendall. Judy Winslow. And the little Black girls who appeared across the s
There was something precious about watching Rudy Huxtable.
Olivia Kendall.
Judy Winslow.
And the little Black girls who appeared across the sitcoms many of us grew up watching.
They got to be children.
Not symbols.
Not representatives of an entire race.
Children.
They wore barrettes.
Lost teeth.
Asked questions.
Got sleepy.
Made messes.
Interrupted grown folks.
Played with toys.
Annoyed their siblings.
Needed reassurance.
Made everybody laugh.
And were tucked safely into families where somebody was watching over them.
That matters.
Because representation isn’t only about showing Black girls becoming extraordinary women.
Sometimes representation means letting a Black girl be seven.
Letting her play.
Letting her be protected.
Letting childhood belong to her.
SURVIVOR AFFIRMATION:
I honor the little girl I was.
She deserved softness.
She deserved laughter.
She deserved protection.
She deserved adults who noticed when something was wrong.
She deserved ordinary afternoons when nothing was required of her except being a child.
And the little girls growing up today deserve the same.
REFLECTION:
What did you love doing before the world began asking you who you were going to become?
May we raise a generation of Black girls who remember childhood not only for what they overcame, but for how deeply they were allowed to enjoy it.
