Cogito Ergo

I used to be ugly.   At least, I thought so.   Pre-teens don’t know shit about beauty but what matters is that I felt ugly and as far as I’m concerned beauty is something that any sentient being must affirm in the self before acknowledging from without.   Simply put, I felt ugly so I was ugly. My ugliness stemmed from one main factor for me: my dark skin.   We are talking late eighties and early nineties here.   Follow me to day when Al B. Sure tore up the airwaves, Aaliyah danced into our hearts and Mr. T. and Apollo Creed were big black dummies destined to get that ass whipped by the noble White man. I had an affinity for playing basketball and touch football with my friends.   I had never even heard the word “sunscreen” before which meant if it wasn’t winter time, I had a nice Taye Diggs-esque color going. My extended family on my father's side is almost all light skinned because my Great grand father on that line was a full blooded Irishman.   If it wasn’t for