And with this this post, I must bid ye all a good night.
I AM INTERFACE.
When she was around 8 and rehearsing for The Nutcracker, just a few days before the performance she was told, “I’m sorry, you can’t do it. America’s not ready for a black girl ballerina.”
For Michaela, “to say this to an 8-year-old is just devastating. It was terrible.”
When she was 9, a teacher told her mother: “I don’t like to put money into black dancers because they grow up and end up having big boobs and big hips.”
The dancer looked down at her petite figure and protested, “I don’t have boobs. I don’t get it.”
Instead of getting her down, “It makes me more determined,” she said. “Because I’ve been through so much, I know now that I can make it and I can help other kids who have been in really bad situations realize that they can make it too.”
Another thing I wasn’t allowed to eat. Man!
Same. We were stocked with Kix, Cracklin Oat Bran and Grape Nuts.
As a kid, getting to eat this cereal meant I wouldn’t beg for Spagettio’s during breakfast.
My pick for best game of last year. That good.
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