When I was in kindergarten there were twin black girls in my class, Tamika and Shamika. I couldn't tell them apart so I called them both 'Mika. They told me I couldn't call them that, only the black girls could call them that. And that was my introduction to race relations. Ever since then I've wanted to be in the inner circle with black girls. If a black girl so much as raises her eyebrows in interest toward me I will make jokes and do circus tricks until I win her approval. It's true, just ask my college friends Loreal and Alanya, who lucky for me, looked past that and were still friends with me.
It could be my experience with the 'Mikas, or maybe white guilt, or maybe the way they have a culture uniquely their own, but I really think it's the connections they have with one another. It's like an exclusive club I can never be a part of, a sorority that I keep trying to rush. Most of our close black friends have moved away (was it something I said??) so I'm concerned that The Boy won't have any black/brown/taupe friends nearby.
Cut to: this week we went to a funeral in Lawrenceville for our friend Greg's dad. All our regular sitters had conflicts so I found an accredited day care near the funeral home that accepts drop ins and we took The Boy there. To a place we'd never seen, to stay with people we'd never met, at a business we knew nothing about...because that's what diligent parents we are.
The door was locked so we rang the bell and waited. When the door finally opened we met the director, who was nicely dressed and friendly. Oh, and she was black. Just behind her was a teacher, also black. She invited us in, where we saw two more adults, also black. And then I noticed 42 little brown eyes looking up at us, attached to 21 little brown and tan faces. We found a black day care! The nice director ushered us in past the pre-school kids sitting at their little table eating lunch and into the baby room. One, two, three, four, five babies were already there. Four were the color of milk chocolate and one was caramel colored.
The Boy is white. I mean really white. When people want to paint their trim bright white they go to Lowe's and request a can of Boy Magness. I'm sure we'll keep Banana Boat in business with all the SPF we'll need over our pasty boy's lifetime. The teacher in the baby class came to greet us and had a thick Slavic accent. He went easily to her and I was thrilled with the exposure to diversity, too bad he'll never remember it. She put him down in an excersaucer and he was playing as we left.
Part of me was uncertain, leaving my child in a strange new place. He goes to school one day a week and he goes to the church nursery, so I don't have a problem leaving him but this was new. As we got in the car I turned to the Husband....
Me: He's going to be fine, right?
H: Yes. What's the worst that could happen?
Me: Horror stories of cases of child abuse, neglect, kidnappings, and natural disasters at day cares crossed my mind but what I said was I hope he's happy there.
H: He cries for an hour at home sometimes, so if he cries for an hour here it won't be any different. Plus, you got your wish. He's getting some diversity.
Me: Yes, I'm glad about that. You think that woman was Russian?
H: Something Slavic for sure. He's might be in a Papuska when we get back. And...you'll have something to blog about.
We went to the funeral and came back to get him and hour and a half later. All the black babies were in their cribs and The Boy was the only one being held. He was having a bottle, which meant he must've been crying. We thanked all the nice employees and loaded up in the car. They said he was sweet and hoped he would get to come back again soon. Back in the car:
H: He must've been crying. Are you worried?
Me: I'm not worried because he was unhappy. I'm worried because he was the only white kid there AND he was being a high maintenance elitist. We haven't raised him that way!
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