This morning, Noah decided that it was vitally important to take his large bottle of sunscreen with him in the car to school.
After we worked through why you CAN NOT put the bottle cap into your mouth, because sunscreen is good for the outside of your body, but bad for the inside of your body, we started discussing what sunscreen is for.
“Noah, you and I have very pale skin. When the sun is bright, it can burn our skin, so we have to wear sunscreen when we play outside in the summer.”
Yes, I know that skin cancer does not discriminate, and that even dark skinned people should wear sunscreen. But friends, almost no one with medically normal skin will sunburn faster than me. I have been described on more than one occasion as “the whitest white person” someone knows — and not only culturally, but physically. That almost-glow-in-the-dark pale skin is part of Josie’s and Noah’s genetic legacy from me.
“My skin is pink!”
“Yes, it is. So is mine.”
“Darius’s skin is brown.”
We play a lot of “what else is like this? what else is like that?” identification games in the car, so I step cautiously into the game mode.
“Yes, that’s true. Who else has brown skin?”
“Miss Pat!”
“That’s right.”
“Jack at my Atlanta school has pink skin. Avery at my Atlanta school has brown skin.”
“What about at your school here?”
“Ava has pink skin. Miss Cathy has pink skin.”
Pause.
“What color skin do you like, Mommy?”
Pause.
“I like all colors of skin, Noah. Everyone’s skin is a little bit different.”
In the ordinary course of our games, I am supposed to ask the same question back.
Pause.
“What color skin do you like, Noah?”
“YELLOW!”
“Who has yellow skin, Noah?”
“I don’t know.”
I pause again, and then pick up discussing friends with different skin tones, and how everyone looks different.
And I wonder, am I using his literal views of the world to push off trying to explain why pink people are called white and brown people are called black, unless they are certain shades of brown, in which case they might be called Latino or Asian or Indian?
It is so interesting to watch the social construction of race, as it happens, in the mind of a little boy. Please, oh please, let us do a good job of helping him not to grow up racist, but to grow up as someone who challenges racism.
I’m not sure I would call toddlers literal when discussing skin tones. My theory is that part of the brain still short circuits all over the place at that age. My example: Noah’s That Mommy announced to me when, she was roughly the same age as Noah is now, that our next door neighbor (who was Caucasian, deaf, sounded funny, had bad facial scarring from a fire, and had a yappy dog that scared her) she did not like “because he’s Black.” Stunned, I followed up with, “Oh, and what color is Daddy?” to which she thoughtfully replied, “Daddy is purple.” Go figure.
My baby cried at the dark brown man helping us at Ace. I hoped that he knew that she’s not racist at one year old, she just couldn’t see me and all strangers are scary.
Noah’s perception of skill color is beautiful.
I meant skin color.
I’d say you’re off to a good start. Sweet story.
I might have to steal that game from you when we get a bit more give-and-take conversational.
He’s a perception-of-race family story:
I am (as you know, but your readers don’t), white — that is, pink, with an undertone of yellow (which is why I look jaundiced in yellow clothing, I have been told).
My grandfather (as you know, etc) is black — that is, a very very dark brown a la his West African ancestors.
Here’s the conversation that happened when my little brother (pink) figured out that our grandfather is a different color than others in the family:
Little brother: Burt is brown!
Our Mother: Yes, he is.
LB: We’re not.
OM: No, we’re not.
LB, bursting into tears: It’s not fair! I want to be brown too!
My son’s preschool teachers (who were not white) were most entertained to show me one of my son’s first self portraits, for which he selected the brown face. He is white, with red hair and freckles.
My head is swirling with all kinds of comments! So I think I am going to have to blog about it…
We have had talks about skin color and about weight. Once Tommy said quite loudly while we were next to an overweight woman at the grocery, “Why is that woman fat mommy?”
Re: sunscreen – we slather it on Tommy, who is either as pale pink as you guys, or more so. I also say to him quite often, “Where’s your hat? Red headed boys must wear hats outside!”