In December 2009, we welcomed our son, Leo, home from Ethiopia on Christmas day. This little guy has profoundly transformed my life and perspective. There’s no one who brings me more joy, keeps me on my toes, and challenges my thinking like he does.
Every morning, between 7:30 and 7:50 am, some of the most enlightening conversations happen during our car rides to school. Leo takes this time to share his opinions, ask questions, and tell me stories. In just twenty minutes, I learn so much.
However, today’s discussion was unexpected and brought a wave of sadness over me. Just the day before, I had taken Leo to see the dermatologist for his annual check-up on his eczema and some pigmentation spots. It’s a routine visit that lasts only a few minutes. I had explained to him that his skin can get a little rash when it’s dry, similar to what I experience, and that we just needed the doctor to take a look. The dermatologist had reassured him that he looked great!
Yet this morning, from the backseat, I was taken aback when Leo asked, “Mommy, why did I go to the dermatologist yesterday?”
“Just to check your eczema. Many people deal with that. But you looked fantastic! We just need to keep using your cream!”
“I don’t like my skin.”
“What?” I responded, stunned.
“It’s too dark.”
My heart sank. I wanted to pull over; these were the words I had dreaded but knew might come at any time. I didn’t expect to hear them when he was still so young.
“Leo, I love your skin. You have beautiful brown skin.”
“Well, I don’t like brown skin. I don’t want it.”
“Many of your friends have brown skin.” In a panic, I started naming them.
“Yeah, they do.”
“What kind of skin do you want?” I already knew the answer.
“Skin like yours.”
This was overwhelming; I was alone in the car at 7:30 am, feeling sad and unprepared. I never wanted him to feel this way. I thought we had done everything right to prevent it. But once again, I realized how naïve I was. There’s no avoiding these conversations, and I knew that.
“Leo, you have beautiful skin. Everyone has different skin colors, and that’s what makes us unique. If we all looked the same, imagine how boring that would be! You loved learning about rainbows in school, right? People are like rainbows—different colors, but all beautiful. Your brown skin is just as lovely as mine, even if it’s not the same. There’s no such thing as too dark or too light.”
“OK.”
As we arrived at school, he asked if he was going to Pre-K for the day.
This conversation is just the beginning. I called my partner, Anna, on my way to work to share the moment, and I could sense her sadness too. Later, I spoke with a trusted colleague who offered valuable insights and support.
I wish we didn’t have to face these challenges with Leo—not because it’s difficult for us to discuss, but because I can see the confusion and pain it causes him. I would do anything to shield him from that. But, unfortunately, I can’t.
I would greatly appreciate any advice, reading recommendations, or stories from those with more experience than I have. We need guidance to ensure we are taking the right steps and saying the right things. More than anything, I wish I could guarantee that Leo will always love himself, regardless of his differences from us. Our best approach is to show him all the reasons we love him and help him build his own identity and self-love.
Tonight, I asked Leo if he wanted to read his Ethiopia book, and we looked at pictures of his birth family. “Your birth mom and dad have brown skin just like you! And their skin is beautiful!”
He smiled and nodded, “Yep!”
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