My 8 year old daughter laid down next to me in the big bed. Snuggled up with "Brown Girl Dreaming," by Jacqueline Woodson. She stopped me, "I don't understand, this book, why do people use different bathrooms because of their skin? It doesn't make any sense." How do you explain racism and hate to a child? Should you?
My girl, Coco* (her self named childhood pet name), is Latina, and not the pale-could-pass-for-Caucasian-Latina, but the beautiful caramel colored that tans to a rich mocha colored Latina. She has always loved her skin. I have always loved her skin. We have always talked about skin. We say she is lucky because her skin gets tan, while mine gets red. She says, she is lucky because she doesn't get big brown freckles like I do. I laugh, because I have always liked my freckles, like she has always liked her tan skin.
Coco thought she was African American. Even though, she knows her heritage. But she thought if it was just skin, her skin was that of brown people. And really, in a way, she is not even Latina. I can not give her enough of that culture for her to ever be anything more than a white-washed girl with caramel skin, as much as I try, I will fail her that.
I lay down Brown Girl Dreaming and try to explain.
"Some people hate people because of the color of their skin," I said.
"Is it because black people are mean, because sometimes, they are," she said.
How do you fix that? That idea that media has portrayed to my young child's view of the world. On T.V., black women, yell and smack their kids. Black men are ridiculous or violent. Black girls have attitude. Black boys are players. T.V. stereotypes people for humor.
"What, black people aren't mean, anymore than any people," I said, "We all are capable of good and bad. That can't be our skin that tells us to be mean or kind."
"So and so in my class is mean," she said.
(knowing the answer will make my case)
"And what color is his skin?" I ask.
"White," she said.
"See, good and bad people come in all colors, shapes, and sizes," I said, "But some people let them think with their hate, not their heart."
She links her tan arm around mine.
"Do you mean people with your skin hate people with my skin?" Coco asked.
"Yes, some do-"
"Do people with my skin hate your skin?" She asked again.
"Yes, some people just hate to hate," I said.
"That's dumb, don't they know it is just skin? Why do they do that?" She shook her head, trying to make sense of the senseless.
"Well, they always have some kind of reason, they think they are smarter, or better, their way is the best way. We know that isn't true, that the only better comes from kindness and love," I said.
She asked more questions, the kind of questions you can't really answer, How could slavery have happened? How can people stereotype so blatantly? How can people let hate grow? How can people be so dumb? She kept saying "But, But, it's just skin, it's like eye color or hair color, how can it matter?"
I could not open books like "Brown Girl Dreaming," or "One Crazy Summer (Rita Williams Garcia)." I could say, it isn't my issue, and it isn't even really her issue. But for me, knowing as a woman, that I wanted equality, turned into looking at injustice in the world. For me, showing my daughter books where children are aware of the injustices they are experiencing, will help her notice her own injustices. I believe in noticing injustice, we educate people able to do something about it.
While my daughter may never face "Whites only bathroom signs," she needs to know they existed to understand the hidden signs. Those hidden signs will keep her locked away from her own dreams, if she allows them. She needs to understand that those people who will hate, probably won't go away. That girls like Jackie, Dell, Maria and my little Coco should not ever own that hate as a reflection of themselves.
I believe education, includes hearing diverse voices. I believe that the more voices we hear, the more understanding and compassion we build. I believe in a public, cultural awakening, and the diversification of thought.
My girl, Coco* (her self named childhood pet name), is Latina, and not the pale-could-pass-for-Caucasian-Latina, but the beautiful caramel colored that tans to a rich mocha colored Latina. She has always loved her skin. I have always loved her skin. We have always talked about skin. We say she is lucky because her skin gets tan, while mine gets red. She says, she is lucky because she doesn't get big brown freckles like I do. I laugh, because I have always liked my freckles, like she has always liked her tan skin.
Coco thought she was African American. Even though, she knows her heritage. But she thought if it was just skin, her skin was that of brown people. And really, in a way, she is not even Latina. I can not give her enough of that culture for her to ever be anything more than a white-washed girl with caramel skin, as much as I try, I will fail her that.
I lay down Brown Girl Dreaming and try to explain.
"Some people hate people because of the color of their skin," I said.
"Is it because black people are mean, because sometimes, they are," she said.
How do you fix that? That idea that media has portrayed to my young child's view of the world. On T.V., black women, yell and smack their kids. Black men are ridiculous or violent. Black girls have attitude. Black boys are players. T.V. stereotypes people for humor.
"What, black people aren't mean, anymore than any people," I said, "We all are capable of good and bad. That can't be our skin that tells us to be mean or kind."
"So and so in my class is mean," she said.
(knowing the answer will make my case)
"And what color is his skin?" I ask.
"White," she said.
"See, good and bad people come in all colors, shapes, and sizes," I said, "But some people let them think with their hate, not their heart."
She links her tan arm around mine.
"Do you mean people with your skin hate people with my skin?" Coco asked.
"Yes, some do-"
"Do people with my skin hate your skin?" She asked again.
"Yes, some people just hate to hate," I said.
"That's dumb, don't they know it is just skin? Why do they do that?" She shook her head, trying to make sense of the senseless.
"Well, they always have some kind of reason, they think they are smarter, or better, their way is the best way. We know that isn't true, that the only better comes from kindness and love," I said.
She asked more questions, the kind of questions you can't really answer, How could slavery have happened? How can people stereotype so blatantly? How can people let hate grow? How can people be so dumb? She kept saying "But, But, it's just skin, it's like eye color or hair color, how can it matter?"
I could not open books like "Brown Girl Dreaming," or "One Crazy Summer (Rita Williams Garcia)." I could say, it isn't my issue, and it isn't even really her issue. But for me, knowing as a woman, that I wanted equality, turned into looking at injustice in the world. For me, showing my daughter books where children are aware of the injustices they are experiencing, will help her notice her own injustices. I believe in noticing injustice, we educate people able to do something about it.
While my daughter may never face "Whites only bathroom signs," she needs to know they existed to understand the hidden signs. Those hidden signs will keep her locked away from her own dreams, if she allows them. She needs to understand that those people who will hate, probably won't go away. That girls like Jackie, Dell, Maria and my little Coco should not ever own that hate as a reflection of themselves.
I believe education, includes hearing diverse voices. I believe that the more voices we hear, the more understanding and compassion we build. I believe in a public, cultural awakening, and the diversification of thought.