Before many of us knew the word “representation,” we knew the feeling. We knew what it meant to turn on the television and see a Black girl there.
Before many of us knew the word “representation,” we knew the feeling.
We knew what it meant to turn on the television and see a Black girl there.
Penny on Good Times.
Tootie on The Facts of Life.
Brenda on 227.
Rudy and Vanessa on The Cosby Show.
Laura on Family Matters.
Ashley on The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air.
Moesha.
Zaria on The Parent ’Hood.
Breanna on One on One.
They weren’t all alike.
That was the gift.
Some were funny. Some were serious. Some were fashionable. Some were awkward. Some were outspoken. Some were figuring themselves out right in front of us.
Different complexions.
Different families.
Different personalities.
Different dreams.
And somewhere, a Black girl sitting on a living-room floor got to see someone who reminded her of herself.
But other children were watching too.
They laughed with these girls. Rooted for them. Grew up with them.
Representation does something beautiful when children receive enough of it:
It turns someone who might have seemed unfamiliar into someone who feels like an old friend.
SURVIVOR AFFIRMATION:
I deserve to see myself in the stories the world tells.
My face belongs in stories of joy.
My childhood belongs in stories of wonder.
My voice belongs in stories about possibility.
And somewhere, another child may discover something beautiful about the world simply because she was given the chance to know someone like me.
REFLECTION:
Who was the first Black girl on television who made you feel seen?
And if you weren’t a Black girl, who made you feel as though you knew her anyway?
May every child find a face that feels like a mirror—and enough different faces to discover how wonderfully large the human family really is.
