Unpacking

On Friday my dad's mom, we call her "Granny," took Nora to McDonald's for her birthday and to go pick out a new toy. She turned six. When they got back, Granny told me about something Nora had done while in the Play Place. She said, "There were twin black girls there playing too, and they were just so cute! Nora had a good time playing with them. So far, so good. I mean this is the South; we are white; Granny was born in 1937. We're doing really well here, folks. Then she finished.

She looked up at one point to see Nora not only pick one of these two children up but also to see her reach out and touch her hair. Granny then tries to explain that her hair was tied back on her head. Immediately I think, she shouldn't do that! You can't do that! I know it isn't so horrific. She's six, just turned six. It is all innocent, but we have to start somewhere, and I know that this is the place we're going to begin.

Since Ferguson, there has been a new set of articles on racism, a topic which is still as relevant as ever. It's a topic which was important long before these recent events, but so much has been said of late. One article that I read was 6 Things White Parents Can Do to Raise Racially Conscious Children, over at Everyday Feminism.   One thing mentioned in the article was to talk to your children about race. As a white woman living in a mostly white town in the South, I found this idea a little awkward. I didn't know what I'd say or how to bring it up. Now suddenly, the opportunity fell directly into my lap. 

The next morning after we'd had our coffee and chocolate milk (shame on me), I brought it up. 

I first explained that some white people, like us, were mean to people with other skin colors, like brown. We'd spoken about race before but not so directly pointing to something so external. We talk about different religious views and things like that often, but we've not really spoken about the external too much.  Nora asked, "How are they mean to them?"

So I told her that it wasn't so long ago that white people had owned black people, just like you might own a dog. I also told her that it wasn't so long ago that black people couldn't use the same doors and water fountains as white people, that white people wouldn't let them. I also told her about how black people tend to be treated differently that white people are treated today, right now. She put her head down, clearly guilty. 

I quickly explained that she wasn't in trouble, that she'd behaved innocently, but I also told her that we do our best to be aware of how others feel, and because we try to be aware, it is our job, as white people who often have it easier than people of color to think of how our actions might make others feel. 

I explained that just because the black girls had a different type of hair did not make it my daughter's place to touch her hair.  Hubs jumped in at this point adding, "Rhea, wouldn't you find it strange if someone you had just met came up and asked to borrow your pajamas?" Her eyes widened, and she nodded. 

She then added, "It would be okay if it was Gabby though." Gabby is her "best friend." We both agreed that that is exactly how it works. It is okay to ask a close friend things you might not ask a stranger as long as you always realize that just because a close friend has a different pair of pajamas doesn't make that person an object or lesser than you. 

Hubs also explained that some white kids might not want to play with kids of color just because they don't look the same. He also added, "Some day a group of boys may tell you that you can't play with them because you're a girl!" This really got to Nora. She looked angry instantly. 

He then added, "It is your job to make sure that you treat all people nicely regardless of whether or not they look different than you look or act differently than you act. We have to make sure to respect how other people might feel and how some things might make another person feel weird or bad that wouldn't make us feel that way."

I've thought about this conversation often during the past few days. We're trying. I know that raising kids to be "color blind" is only going to make the problems people of color are facing worse. Ignoring something certainly doesn't make it disappear.  Later in the day, I asked Nora if she had any questions about the conversation we'd had earlier. She said, "Yeah... Why are people mean to black people?" I had to think about it. Finally, I said, "You know what, I don't have a good answer. There isn't a good answer. Let's just be sure that we are respecting how others might feel and always treating everyone the same as we'd like to be treated." She nodded. 

This conversation has continued to weigh on me. I think of the many articles I've read about having "the talk" as black parents, and not the one about the birds and the bees. 

I recounted this conversation to a friend, and she asked me why I'd place that sort of burden on my child, acting far more awkward about it than my daughter had acted. The question was meant to be rhetorical, and I let it lie and left shortly after. I thought about it though. Then I realized...white privilege. Shit. White privilege.

I hadn't thought about it like this before, but trying to teach my child about racism and empathy and how to respect others is what some people would consider as a parent wrongly “burdening” a child.
Black parents don't get that luxury. This conversation that I'd perceived as difficult must sound like a walk in the park on a sunny day to a parent of a black child. Black parents don't have the choice. They must teach their children about racism and how to deal with it and how not to get beaten or shot. They have to teach their children to hold their anger, sadness, and frustration in until they reach a safe place to let it all out. I am trying to teach my child to spot inequality, feel anger, sadness, and frustration and point it out. Now that's a luxury.

I also realize that I'm only guessing. I'm guessing that my married, black co-workers must fret each time their husbands step out of house; they must feel so much anxiety each time they take their kids for a walk. I don't know how it feels. I never will know how it feels. What I do know is that I don't take it lightly that other people have to deal with these things every day. And part of the way that I want to help is by teaching my children to not take these injustices lightly either.  If I truly want to unpack the invisible knapsack, then I need to do what I can to unpack my own privilege and teach my children to unpack their own.