“Mommy, I’m only going to play with brown kids, not white kids.”
My heart and my head hurt instantly when my 4-year-old daughter made this statement earlier this week. It felt like she’d said a curse word, a really bad one.
Where had she learned such a thing? Was it something I said or did? Certainly not. Had she absorbed something from television? I hope not. My response to her that morning was sharp. I admit that I didn’t handle it well. I yelled at her: You never say that, don’t you ever say that again. Tears filled her tender eyes. She didn’t understand my sharp reply. I immediately changed my tone and told her it wasn’t a nice thing to say. She said she was sorry and I apologized for yelling.
As I thought about it later that day I realized I was going to have to follow up for a calmer, more-pointed discussion about what she’d said. What’s the conversation you have with a 4-year-old about race? I needed to understand why she’d said such a thing unprompted. The car was filled with gospel music at that very moment.
Did she hear it at school? From who? At the park, maybe? Or, gulp, did mommy do something to make her feel that way? A part of me wants to move on. I want to talk to her about new spelling words. I want to talk about Princess Tiana, Doc McStuffins, Dory, Elsa, Anna and Olaf.
Of course, I know I can still talk about kid stuff but, honestly, I hadn’t really thought about these deeper issues so soon in her young life. She’s four for goodness’ sake. I’ve written in this space before that my daughter is adopted so I’ve already had to learn how to discuss mature topics with her, and it’s not easy. Parents talk all the time about how their kids grow up too fast; society today is forcing that even more so.
As much as I hate to share that story about my daughter, I think it is the best example of where change starts in the home. Even with as much influence as I have in my child’s life, she’s vulnerable to the world I can’t protect her from.
Change happens in our private lives, with our family, friends, loved ones, acquaintances and co-workers. It must start there. Or else we can never move on. It’s hard, but so is everything in life that matters most.
Keeping up with news events over the course of the last two weeks has my brain in whiplash mode. My heart, like others, is heavy.
Again, I want to move on. I want to go back to watching Chopped, Sanford and Son reruns, and Family Feud. I want to smile and laugh without feeling guilty about it.
But as the issue of violence takes over our conversations, laughter seems out of place. I’m struggling to move on. It’s hard to smile and think about frivolous things. I want to rejoice over Serena Williams making history at Wimbledon. I want to rejoice over Mattel unveiling a “Shero” Barbie in honor of Gabby Douglas.
I was torn on what to say in this column. As a journalist and managing editor of color, I was reminded by a colleague that I have a platform many don’t have.
I couldn’t bring myself to write about race, violence, the relationship between my black community and those called to serve and protect. I couldn’t write about it because it’s still too raw.
Really, what we need is more people writing and talking about it. I believe that it’s incumbent upon every American household to find a way to make a difference in their own responsible, purposeful way. If you want to march, march responsibly and with a purpose. If you want to pray, pray unselfishly for God to fix the hearts of others, but more importantly to fix your heart.
I understand that sometimes people feel their voices are not heard. But it’s important to remember that real, long-term change starts at our dinner tables, in our own homes.
What are you telling your children? What information are you digesting? Are you avoiding it? Race and religion have long been topics that we shy away from in public discussion.
Even in newsrooms it’s often difficult to talk about issues of race. In the last week or two, I’ve left news discussions sad and disappointed at times when it seems we have danced around issues and gotten caught up in process. I don’t want to devalue our work. Make no mistake about it. We have been there and present with powerful coverage that I’m very proud of.
AJC reporters and photographers have set aside their personal feelings and fears in the midst of reporting from heated protests in Atlanta, Louisiana, Dallas and Minnesota. We report what we see and hear and we uncover and dig into facts and figures that are important. But it’s hard for us to get deeper. It’s hard for instance to talk about how black men have felt oppressed for generations, from slavery in the 17th, 18th and 19th centuries to injustice in the 1960s and 70s.
I am not a black man, but I know this from my late grandfather who fought in wars for our country but returned to a war in the U.S. that was based solely on the color of his skin. I know this from my father who grew up in the Civil Rights movement. I know this from my brother, a millennial, who is dealing with this while raising three young sons of his own, the two oldest of whom have a genuine fear of police, white or black.
When the colleague I referenced earlier suggested I write about our news coverage of last week’s turmoil and our commitment to covering tough issues like race, I told him I had to think about it because I wasn’t sure I could put it into words or say all that I really wanted to say.
Honestly, it was my daughter’s comment that led me here. I am doing my best to raise my child in a loving and empathetic household that’s open to differences. And I have to hope that you do the same because what my child learns when she’s not with me is based, in part, on what you teach your children.
If you don’t know what to do in times like this, start at home. Respond when you see or hear about injustice. Make it your business. What you do today can make a difference in the world generations from now.
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