Blame the Parents

On Sunday morning, we sat down at a restaurant for breakfast.

PJ and I were on one side of the table.  SAG and Little Dude sat facing us.  PJ looked beyond her father’s and brother’s shoulders at the family that sat behind them and announced, “Look, Mom, that is a table of ALL brown people.”

The mother looked up at me, caught my eye and smiled.

I simply said, “Yes, yes it is.”

I was thankful for the fact that Little Dude was with us.  Because that could have been much more awkward then it already was.

My children, of both shades, happily played with the darling brown children until it was time for us to leave.

My daughter is at that age where she is constantly noticing similarities and differences.

I can accept this.  We are okay.

Yesterday, at the park, a young girl came over to share our sand toys.  Viola was brown, like Little Dude.  Her mother was peachy/pale/white-ish, like me.  At some point PJ was playing next to Viola.  Her mother had been encouraging Viola to join in the games PJ was playing with another little girl.  But Viola wasn’t interested.  Now that PJ’s friend had left, I hoped to encourage PJ to play with Viola.  I said, “PJ,  that new friend is named Viola.  Why don’t you play with her?”

And my daughter answered, “But she is brown.”

My shock came out in a half-laugh, half scoff.  I replied, “Yeah, and so is your brother.”

Viola’s mother looked at me and giggled.  We were both at a loss.

I think PJ and Viola then did some interacting.  Honestly, I can’t remember.

I was stupefied.  I was horrified.  I was mortified.  I was trying to figure out what just happened.

I wanted to talk to PJ about it.  But I didn’t want to do it in front of Little Dude.  I was praying there had been a misunderstanding.

Viola and her mother eventually left and PJ joined Little Dude and me where we were playing.  I couldn’t wait any longer.  I asked PJ, “Did you think I said that Viola’s name was violet?”  Please, say yes.  Please, PLEASE, say yes.  Then this is just a conversation about the difference between violet and brown.  Ha, ha, ha.

PJ looked sheepish.  I am not sure she has ever looked quite that way before.  She mumbled yes.  But I didn’t quite believe her.

I asked a few more questions and PJ confessed that she had not misunderstood me.

The conversation went on and PJ said that Little Dude should have played with Viola because they were the same color.

Another little girl arrived where we were playing  and PJ announced she wanted to play with her because, “She looks like me.”

Crap.

I can not accept THIS.  I don’t feel like we are okay.

I know noticing color is not the same as racism.  But deciding who should play with whom based on color – that feels completely different.

I know PJ felt bad at the park when I talked to her.  On some level she understood we were in murky water and it wasn’t good.  I didn’t lecture or call her naughty.    I did point out that her brother and she were different shades and played together all the time.  Maybe in my effort not to over-react, I under reacted.  But I needed time to think.

My mind is spinning and I am coming up with lots of theories.

First theory; she is getting this from school.  The school we picked out primarily for its diversity.  She is certainly getting other things at school, like the sentence, “If you don’t come here right now I am going to smack you.”  I promise this is nothing she has ever heard at home.

Second theory;  it is just an adaptation of other categorizations.  Noticing similarities and differences is big at age four.  Frankly, grouping things and people in categories is something we never outgrow.  Last week, while at playgroup, another mother commented how Little Dude must have been happy to have Charlie there since everyone else was a girl.  It struck me as a little strange and made me think about how even the most educated of us often defer to simple classification by gender.  If this woman who I respect and love simplifies in this way, is it that strange that my daughter would be trying out other simplifications?

At bedtime the kids each get to pick out one book to read.  Last night I added a “Mother’s Choice Bonus Book.”  I, of course, picked, “Shades of People.”   I tried to let what is a favorite book for all of us drive home the message of equality, while I resisted the urge to pontificate.

When we read the book, the book I love and naively thought of as a vaccine against skin color becoming an issue, I didn’t try to make her uncomfortable. I was hoping that light bulb would go off in her head all by itself.

If my child, being raised in our multi-cultural household, where we take very conscious steps to honor diversity, can say something so potentially hurtful in front of another kid, what about children growing up in racist households?  Or households that are neutral?

How about the reverse scenario that so many of my liberal, white friends learned to embrace; raising your kids to be color-blind.  Would this event have occurred if we were “color-blind”?  If I taught my kids to never mention color and that it was wrong to even notice it, could I ensure this will never happen again?

I am taking some solace in the fact that her issue was strictly based on color and not at all based on race.  At this point, I don’t think my kids know anything about the concept of race.  And I am comfortable with that.  I don’t think there is an age appropriate way to randomly bring up “race” with pre-schoolers.  Diversity, yes; race, not yet.

Of course, after yesterday’s debacle, the only thing I know is I don’t know a thing.

I scheduled an appointment to meet with her teacher just to make sure those lines of communication are open and she is listening for the same sentiments being expressed on the playground – by the other children and (it kills me to type this) my child.

And you can bet that we will ramp up reading of all our favorite diversity books.  Unfortunately,  there is an obvious gap between what we are reading and what we are living.

My reality… yesterday, at the park, I overheard a white girl tell her mother she didn’t want to play with another child because the child was brown.  In this case, I was the mother of the white child.  Next week, it is just as likely that I will be the mother of the brown child.  I’ve worked hard to prepare for the situation where it is my brown child being excluded.  I was completely unprepared to be the parent of the white child doing the excluding.