Hill Harper - Letters to a Young Sister: Define Your Destiny

Table of Contents

ALSO BY HILL HARPER

Definitions belong to the definer not the defined.

Toni Morrison

Foreword

WHEN HILL FIRST TOLD ME about Letters to a Young Sister, my first thought was how badly I could have used a book like this growing up. Reflecting on my teens and early twenties, I see all the mistakes I made and how so many of them could have been avoided had I been given the right advice (from someone I would be willing to listen to). Truth be told, I was hardheaded growing up, meaning it took a lot for anyone or anything to get through to me. It was my way no matter what the outcome. In fact, I rarely stopped to think about what consequences my actions would have. I never had an older brother looking out for me or stepping in to be my protector from some of the craziness we all experience growing up. Through the years, as my friendship with Hill has grown, his presence in my life has become invaluable. We talk about whats going on in our lives, give advice, support each other in making decisions, and, most importantly, challenge each other to be the best version of ourselves at all times. He is unconditional in his love and support. Hill is always there not only to toast my success but to lend a helping hand if I falter. After years of that kind of friendship, I am happy and honored to write the foreword for Letters to a Young Sister. I am excited to begin this fantastic collection of stories, letters, and pieces of love and inspiration.

Im a lifelong charter member of the sisterhood, and if there is one thing I know about my sister-girlfriends, its that we need straight-up advice and none of that cookie-cutter nonsense. We are all uniquely different. As Black women, we are even more diverse when you take into account the differences in our skin tones, hair textures, booty sizes, and other features. I even stood out from the other girls in my own family. They were always described as pretty, dainty, feminine, and beautiful. When it was my turn, I got You have such a good crossover, Gab or Gab, you are such an excellent student. Much to my disappointment, my physical appearance was never complimented. On the one hand, when I was younger, I can proudly say I focused on more important things, such as being a great athlete and an excellent student. At the time, I didnt care about being pretty or having lighter skin or longer hair. But then I reached puberty and with hormones going crazy and emotions on a roller coaster, I was left feeling immensely insecure. I could have used a big brother to give me some wisdom and advice, especially since I also started liking boys and they didnt like girls who looked like me. Id always been a tomboy. As an athlete, I couldnt worry about my hair and primping. I wasnt even in a training bra and I had this hair that was unruly. Simply put, I was a bit of a hot mess.

The other day my friends ten-year-old daughter, Zo, was watching High School Musical, and when the song Popular came on, which is basically an anthem for teenage popularity, all I could do was groan. This adorable fifth grader told me how badly she wanted to be popular. I explained to Zo that the last thing she needed was to peak in elementary school, and popularity now really isnt important in the scheme of things. She gave me that look that only a kid can issue to an adult, which means, This isnt the Stone Age anymore and things are different. As often as I had given that same look to my parents, no one had ever done it to me and all I could do was laugh. If there is one thing Ive learned, its that people dont change that much and we never really graduate school. Till the end of time, little girls and boys will clamor to become popular.

Ironically I was popular, but not for all the reasons you might think. I was good at making people laugh and, as I mentioned, I was a good athlete and student. I had always been confident until suddenly the things that had defined mesports and good gradeswere not enough, and I began to lose my self-confidence. I started developing crushes on guys, but theyd wind up liking my friends over me. So I started questioning why nobody liked me: Maybe its my hair, maybe its the size of my nose, maybe its my skin color? These were thoughts that hadnt ever occurred to me until it came to guys. I started begging my mom to get me a relaxer. Hair was so important that I really believed if I had the right hairstyle, my life would magically improve. I just wanted to look like my friends. I would put pillowcases on my head, or T-shirts, and prance around in front of the mirror imagining that it was my hair and that I was finally beautiful. I would make my mom leave the relaxer on until it would burn because I knew the longer she left it on, the straighter my hair would become. Id wind up with lesions on my scalp, trying to fit into this idea of what I thought was pretty. Then came the seventh grade and New Wave, when I dyed my hair to resemble Duran Duran and Depeche Mode. I got a bowl of hydrogen peroxide, stuck my bangs in the bowl, and sat out in the sun so I could get that perfect punk New Wave look everyone had. Unfortunately, it turned my hair Ronald McDonald red and it stayed like that for yearsand all of that because I wanted to fit in so badly. I was basically trying to become everything I wasnt and, in doing so, only became more insecure and less happy.

But like all growing pains, it had to get worse before it could get better. One summer I went away to basketball camp and had a whole other crew of girls to compare myself to. I went from having low self-esteem, from never being considered as pretty as the white girls at my school, to competing against other African American girls who physically covered the whole spectrum from biracial to jet-black, from flat-chested to having body and booty. I wish I could say this made me a happier person and improved my self-image, but it didnt. My first boyfriend cheated on me with a light-skinned girl, and then a second boyfriend did the same thing. Instead of realizing that these guys were not worthy of my attention, I blamed the light-skinned girls and believed that if my skin were lighter, then I would be happy. It got to the point where any time a light-skinned girl came into a room, I immediately felt ugly; my nose was too big, my hair was too nappy. I thought that no one was ever going to pay attention to me if those types of girls were around. Instead of finding value in my talents, my accomplishments, and my particular brand of beauty, I became this insecure person who was mean toward light-skinned women. In my mind they were the only thing stopping me from being happy. In their presence I felt I was invisible. I look back now and realize how much time I wasted and how all the hair products, padded bras, and makeup werent going to fix what I was feeling inside. Changes had to be made, and they had to be made from the inside out.

Through the bulk of my adolescent insecurity, I didnt have anyone telling me to just be myself and things would eventually work out that change would inevitably come and it would be the growing kind, the maturing kind, the kind that makes you see how its your inward beauty that reflects who you are and what you look like to the outside world.