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A Sense of Self

As a youngster, going to various places with mom, I was never aware that I might draw more stares than the more commonly seen biological mother and daughter.  From what I know, this lack of awareness is often the case with children.  I’m reading Zora Neale Hurston’s Their Eyes Were Watching God, and the protagonist, Jeanie, does not realize that she is black until she sees a photo of herself.

Blame it on stupidity or blame it on childhood innocence, but I was so unaware that I don’t even remember giving any serious thought to the idea that I didn’t have a father.
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