My son Patrick, who is European-American, was nearly three when his sister Meg arrived. Six months later, the two of them sat near me while I read a picture book about a Latino boy. “Hey mom,” Patrick said pointing to the picture, “that kid’s skin is different from mine.”
“Yes,” I replied.
“And Meg’s skin is different from mine.”
“Yes,” I replied.
“And mommy, your skin is different from mine.”
Although this was a bit unexpected, I do have a rosy undertone (in fact I remember telling someone when I was a child that I was a pink person, not a white one), so I said, “Yes” and we went on with the book.
What I interpreted from this incident is that at three, my son noticed differences but did not categorize them. He clearly saw that he was different from his sister and from the boy in the book, but also from me. He did not have a concept that he and I were one race and his sister another.
We’ve really only had one racist comment that I can recall. (Plus a couple of questions such as “Where is Her Real Mother?”)
Ironically, this occurred on the playground of one of the most diverse public schools in our diverse city. My kids attend our parish school, but we were at the public school for Patrick’s Little League practice. Meg was five. A girl of nine or ten rode up on her bike.
“Does she speak English?” she asked me.
I turned to Meg. “Do you want to answer that?” I asked. Meg shook her head.
“Yes,” I told the girl.
“What is she?” the girl asked next.
“American”.
“She doesn’t look like an American.”
I told the girl that Americans look all sorts of ways. I honestly think that’s the only blatantly prejudiced comment I’ve ever heard from a child.
I’ve asked my son if people question whether Meg can really be his sister.
“No,” he replied, “they just ask if she’s really in first grade.” [Alluding to her small stature, I assume.]
Another mom told me her daughter was upset because her best friend insisted that Meg couldn’t be “Patrick’s sister”. The mom told her daughter, “honey, you know you’re right, don’t worry what Sue thinks”. I didn’t address it directly, but made sure when I picked up the kids that I called out to the kids a bit louder than necessary and within earshot of the disbeliever. “Come with Mom now, Meg.” I saw the girl look at me sideways once. I assume that settled the matter.
Ironically, this girl is part Asian herself, and does not look like her white father. But she does look like her sibling so I guess she assumed all siblings do.
Patrick says he’s never been aware of comments like this. “Well, maybe they do say it,” he conceded when I asked, “but I guess they know better than to say it to me or Meg.”
One other incident occurred when I brought Regina with me one day to the church preschool where I teach two afternoons a week. A four-year-old Chinese boy asked, “Is she really your real daughter?”
“Yep!” I said.
“I mean really, really for real?”
“Yes.”
“Really, really, really for real?
“Really, really, really for real,” I confirmed. “Are you asking because we look different?”
He nodded.
“Regina was born in Korea. So she looks the way most people born in Korea look.”
“Oh.”
In general, I’ve tried to approach the subject of differences with kids in a matter-of-fact manner without suggesting that the topic is “bad” or upsetting. I did this today when I saw Regina staring at a wheelchair. I explained that a wheelchair was a tool that helped people who couldn’t walk much go where they wanted to go. We’ll see if that approach continues to be successful in talking about skin color as the kids grow. I’ve noticed that some adults unfortunately let extreme discomfort with this topic show, as I’ll address in my next blog.
Please see these related blogs:
Things All Children Should Know About Adoption
Dispelling Racial Myths In The Media