“One night at the dinner table, Lilly got upset with me because I took the last piece of some food she liked. I can’t remember exactly what it was. When I declined to share on account of her being a brat, she balled up her little fists, scowled, and yelled at me, “YOU NIGGLE!” It got so quiet in that kitchen you could have heard an ant fart. Sam and Diane exchanged looks of shock, confusion, and, to my dismay, amusement. I sat there, dumbfounded and angry.”
My youngest foster sister and I were like peas in a pod for the most part, always together, but as she grew older and became more aware of our racial differences, she began to look at me and feel shame. She was exposed to things in the world that told her that there was something “wrong” with me because of my skin color and the fact that it was different and darker than hers. That hurt a lot, because I never saw her as anything other than my sister. I cared about her, I cared for her, and I protected her, so her starting to not want me around anymore was very painful to deal with.