Let’s Talk About Race

TheodoreAtHolocaustMuseum

I grew up on military bases. Which means, for the most part, I was surrounded by diversity, and can clearly remember being one of the only Caucasian girls in my classes in school and on our street growing up. During those years, my parents talked to me about racial tension and told me about this group called the KKK, which I ignorantly thought to be obsolete.

And then, in 1989, our family moved to North Louisiana. On the first day, we drove into town towards our new house, stopped at a red light, and in front of the town bank on the corner, terrifying white-cloaked creatures held up signs and screamed obscenities at our windows.

The KKK was real.

Flash forward almost twenty years later, and I have given birth to two boys. Two white boys, automatically born into privilege, based on their gender and the color of their skin. I’ve thought a lot about this over the years, mainly because I rally for women to vote when an election rolls around because this is something I don’t take for granted. My great-great-grandmother was not always able to vote, but lived to see her daughter vote. I’m not passing on the opportunity earned by others who didn’t live to vote themselves. Our boys will never have to utter words such as those that I just wrote, or that there was ever a time when they would’ve been without these birthrights.

So, I have open conversations with our boys. About how they have opportunities not always afforded to others and they should never take that for granted, nor should they stop fighting for others to have equal rights.

And then, over the course of the last few years, something happened. Both boys were diagnosed with autism. Which, at face value, seems like there would be no way in hell I could tie the subject of autism to race, but bear with me, as it proves to be valuable towards the end.

Our oldest has High-Functioning Autism. This means, basically, that he is whip-smart, and sees things in black and white, right and wrong, and that’s just the way it is, period. Our youngest, has Asperger’s, and if you tell him that the sky is blue, he will tell you that he only sees white clouds. Neither of them view the world as we do, and this includes their views on people and race.

Last year, I took our youngest to a checkup at the neurologist. He refused to wear normal clothes and wore a superhero costume to the doctor’s office. The office was abnormally crowded, with at least fifty patients waiting in the reception area, as it is for several physicians. Basically, I was surrounded by a hodgepodge of people just waiting to pass their time through judgment.

He was up to his usual shenanigans, and since he has no concept of an inside voice, when he talked, it was more of a bellow, which got us lots of stares. And then the nightmare started.

He started yelling about race.

Him: Mom, I have this friend at school and her skin is brown.

(He goes to a racially diverse public school, so I was surprised that he singled her out. And that he decided that this was the time to discuss it.)

Me: Shhhhhh!!!! (Feeling the burning eyes of judgment upon me)

Him: But, Mom, her skin is brown.

Me: SHHHHHH!!! I understand, but let’s talk about that later.

I want to crawl into a corner and die at this point as it has gotten very quiet and everyone is now staring.

Him: But, Mom, she keeps telling me she is black, but she’s not. SHE’S BROWN.

Oh. My. God.

He continues: And she keeps telling me I’m white, but I’M PEACH.

The judgment turned to laughter, and then he started to sing a song about pink eye, so he moved on, but I started thinking about teaching children about race and talking about it at an early age.

I had always thought that I would have conversations about race through teaching moments, such as this mortifying moment I have just relayed to all of you.

But, I was wrong. Just like teaching our children proactively about right and wrong, sex education, responsible alcohol consumption and everything else, we must teach them about privilege and race proactively.

Around the same time as this exchange occurred, we took our oldest to Washington, D.C.. While my husband was in meetings all day, I dragged our son to every monument and statue in town, gleefully discussing history with him.

On one of these days, we were able to secure a private tour of the Capitol. While standing in the rotunda, we had a long conversation about the Carrara Italian marble Portrait Monument carved by Adelaide Johnson of Elizabeth Cady Stanton, Susan B. Anthony, and Lucretia Mott. This monument is sculpted out of an 8 ton slab, with three heads, each depicting these trailblazers, with one rough piece of stone waiting to be carved until the first female President of the United States is elected.

Innocently, he inquired ‘why had there never been a female President?’

Next, I took him to my favorite museum, the Holocaust Museum. Since this museum has a timed entry, we ate hot dogs from a vendor on the corner, giving me the opportunity to talk him about bystander behavior and how while he will grow up with the privilege of his birth, solely based on his gender and the color of his skin, he will also carry the burden of watching out for others and being an ally for others who are still fighting for their rights.

We walked through this museum, and like me, he was somberly haunted by the souls living within those walls.

When we left, I caught him looking at this sculpture in from of the building and was able to discreetly snap this photo. I gave him a moment, since I could tell he was deep in thought.

When I asked him if he had any questions, he said, “I don’t really understand why this happened. We are all equal.”

Proactive conversations work.

So, in light of all of the horrific occurrences happening right now because of a few hateful individuals, I implore you tonight to take the opportunity to talk to your kids about race. Talk to them before someone else does.

Start the conversation with this hashtag: #letstalkaboutrace

 

Hobbs & Hayworth, Episode 1

I know many of you have heard of my friend, Harmony, from Modern Mommy Madness.  We just met, and in an insane twist, we live 3 miles apart.  Mind.Blown. Watch out, world, the possibilities are endless.

We recently taped a live segment with MomCaveTV and were delighted when they asked us to send them taped material to be edited down to several segments.  We’ve been brainstorming about what we could do, and had a semi-idea of where it was going.

And then we took a trip together.  And drank.  A lot.

We went to BlogU and took the same flights home together.  The flights were delayed, which means only one thing:  drinks in the airport lounge, which led to hilarity with some new friends named Dr. Gene, Ryan, and Jen.

DrGenepicmonkey

So, to kick off the MomCaveTV segments, we thought we would give you a sneak preview of our segments.  Enjoy, and look for us in the near future!

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=M_7owax8i1g&feature=youtu.be

 

Another Life Lesson via Irony

voodoodoll

Last week, I wrote about irony after my first Scary Mommy post.  Well, life likes to put the smackdown on you when you don’t listen to the signs the universe is clearly shoving in your face.

This Monday, as in four days ago, was worse than last Monday.  When I picked up the boys from camp and tried to drive home, I had to pull over twice because Theodore was so hysterical.  Two hours later, he had finally calmed down and was playing quietly upstairs when I heard him starting to pick on Radcliffe.

Don’t get me wrong, those two can fight.  They’re boys, after all, and the definition of opposites. That said, they love each other and are each other’s biggest cheerleaders, but they were squabbling over petty shit.

I could hear them arguing from downstairs and frankly, was almost too tired to intervene.  Parenting is emotionally exhausting.

So, I called him downstairs, and asked him what was really going on.  He started to blame Radcliffe, and I shut it down.  ‘No,’ I said, ‘what are you really upset about?’

He just started to cry.

Him:  ‘It’s just never going to get easier.’

Me: ‘What, baby?’

Him: ‘Being around people.  I don’t know how to make friends.  And I’m just different than the other kids, I know I am, and I hate it. And the kids are not nice to me.’

These are the days I hate parenting.  I want to scoop them up into my cocoon and never let them experience pain.

He and I talk a lot about finding our ‘people’, and that when you are an odd bird (like myself), sometimes that doesn’t come until later, but that doesn’t mean you need to conform to the people around you to compromise and find them.

So, we made daily goals for camp.  Each day, he would introduce himself to one kid, and ask two questions.  Sounds easy, but for him, it’s not.  And, no matter what, he would be kind, even when the others are not.

Then, I gave him this ‘Watchover Voodoo’ doll I bought him in the airport while traveling this past weekend.  The tag says, ‘I will help give you strength to fight for all the things you believe in.’  I told him to put it in his pocket and grab it when he needs the reminder that I’m there, helping him fight little and big fights.

He started crying again.

Me:  ‘I know why the universe gave you to me.  So I can help you do whatever you want to do, whatever your big dreams are, and help you find your people.’

Him:  ‘Mom, I know.  I know you always do the right thing, even when it’s hard.’

Me:  ‘Really?  How do you know?’

Him: ‘I live here, mom.  And I know that you might not think you’re the best mom, but in my eyes, you will always be the best mom.’

Big.fucking.crocodile.tears.

So, today is Friday, and I was driving the boys back to camp.  On the way, I asked what he bought with the $10 I had sent with him to buy snacks at the dairy store at the LSU Agriculture Center, one of their field trips.  He told me he bought ice cream, and a bottle of water.  Teasingly, I asked him where my change was.

Then Radcliffe said, ‘You didn’t tell her?’

‘Tell me what,’ I asked.

Theodore: ‘Only one kid’s parents’ forgot to send money for a snack.  So I bought his for him.  I didn’t want him to feel left out. It was the right thing to do.’

Fighting tears, I dropped them off and then I pulled over and cried, for reasons I couldn’t pinpoint.  Why was I crying???

Pride.

Because this little human is choosing to be a better person, even when he has been given every reason in the world to be bitter after people are mean and exclusionary.  I’m ending this week exhausted and worn the fuck out, and for that solitary moment, it was worth it.