Not Always Black & White: The Brown Areas
“I am Golden” by bestselling author Eva Chen is a children’s book that tells the story of a Chinese immigrant family and is a celebration of self-love. It’s one of my favorite books to read at bedtime. “People will call you different with one breath and then say that we all look the same with the next angry breath.” And I can’t help but feel inspired as I declare, “I am golden!” and encourage the kids to say it out loud with me at the end.
“Are you golden, mommy?” Skylar asked me after closing the book shut one night. “Of course I am,” I smiled back at her curious eyes. From then on, she occasionally referred to herself as golden too. When we read other books with illustrations of children of all different shades, I started asking her, which one is Skylar? Time and time again, she pointed to the brown girl with curly hair. I interpreted this as her identifying as a brown girl which is indeed what she is. Perhaps she thought golden was an adjective for something other than her skin color and a metaphor for ‘powerful’ or ‘beautiful.’
Months pass and just last week, I got out of work a little early to perfect weather. I pulled into my driveway to see the au pair outside with the kids and I immediately joined them for some sunshine. Maverick was looking for bugs, Naomi was climbing the outdoor furniture, Zuri was trying to eat dirt, and Skylar was playing with a small blue rubber sea otter. She was waving the bath toy around pretending that the tail stung people. Then she goes on to explain to our au pair, a black woman from South Africa, that the sea otter only stings brown people. I stiffened up, wondering if I had heard her right, and asked her to repeat herself. “It only stings brown people, it doesn’t sting white people.”
Suddenly, everything stopped, the leaves became still, the chirping birds became mute, and the brilliance of the sun became blurry. In what was probably 10 seconds or less, I was trying to digest so many intense emotions.
Shock- Where on earth was this coming from?
Embarrassment- Did she really just say that to our African au pair?
Anger- Don’t you ever talk like that again! Go to time-out!
Disappointment- An entire household of books intentionally picked out for minority representation, recognizing Black history, Latin heritage and APPI months, screening shows and movies for brown characters… for what?
Confusion- How did this transpire? Who is teaching her this? Where did she hear it?
Fear- My baby just turned 4 years old. Is she already expressing bias?
Insecurity- Was this a result of something I did?
Helplessness- Our efforts at home don’t stand a chance against the world we live in…
I swallowed that intensity and calmly asked her why was it only brown people? She walked over and whispered into my ear, “because they don’t listen.” Then I asked her why she was whispering and asked her to answer the question again. She reluctantly told me it was because they don’t listen. I clarified- The sea otter stings brown people because they don’t listen? She nodded her head in confirmation. My heart starts to break, but rather than breakdown, I go on and ask her what color everyone was. Daddy, Naomi and the au pair are brown. Maverick and Zuri are white. Mommy and Skylar are golden. So she did associate golden to skin color. I was wrong.
“It seems silly that the sea otter only stings brown people. What if the white people don’t listen? Do they get stung?? Yes.
“What if there are red people that don’t listen? Do they get stung?” Yes.
We go through all the colors of the rainbow… purple people, blue people, green people, pink people… and she tells me yes. “So it doesn’t matter what color you are, if you don’t listen, you get stung by the tail?” Yup. Then she got distracted and ran off to join her siblings.
I felt fragile. I didn’t know if that was the best way to guide a conversation with a toddler, but I didn’t have a second to strategize. I had to be strategic right there and then when it was relevant in her world. Quite frankly, I panicked. I was blindsided and that was the only strategy that I could think of on my toes- help her acknowledge that there are brown people that she loves, then gently shift her reasoning to see that it’s not the color, but rather the behavior that should be distinguished. Here’s the thing: I would never punish Skylar for saying something that she hardly understood. There was no malice in her tone. Yet, she may have felt uneasy about her words if she only wanted to whisper them. A feeling that she was probably unable to explain, perhaps even unaware of. A feeling that even adults cannot explain if they are aware at all. I wouldn’t scold her because it is important that I remain non-judgmental and open-minded with my children so that they feel comfortable talking to me about their curiosities in the future. And one day when we can have meaningful discussions, I will have the opportunity to influence them and vice versa.
I was eager to talk to my husband about the situation as soon as he got home. I contemplated calling him immediately because I was worried that Skylar might make another comment like that again and I wasn’t handling it right. Later that day, we went to the playground and I told him the whole story as we sat on the grass and the kids took turns rolling down the hill.
“What color does she think she is?”
Golden.
“She’s brown.” He insisted.
I wondered about my emphasis on AAPI Heritage month over the last 3 weeks. We were silent as we watched grass entangle into their curls and clothes. Skylar comes running up the hill and reaches Ricky for a hug. As they embrace, their skin blends and I’m reminded that she is the most magnificent clone of her father. He asks about the sea otter stinging. “Who does it sting, Skylar?” I held my breath. My sphincters tighten.
“It stings all the bad people,” she answers as if it was a silly question with the most obvious answer ever then runs away yelling that she needs to potty.
A mild exhale. A small and fleeting sense of relief, but not a win. The weight of our exchange earlier that day stayed heavy on my mood. A rush of pressure overcame me as I realized the endless efforts of parenthood, trying to raise 4 incredible babies into kind and confident humans. I continually seek balance understanding that I will never find it. I remind myself to keep a warm heart in what could be a very cold world. I tell them to be fearless and then to be careful in the next sentence. I hug them tight after putting them in time-out. I don’t allow them to say “I can’t” then shrug if I hear them swear. Maybe there is no balance, only my best and maybe I haven’t even figured out my best yet. The one thing I do know for certain is that they make me better in every aspect of my life. Raising mixed babies is complex, delicate, ambiguous, enlightening, dynamic, powerful, and a privilege all at the same time. It’s not white. It’s not black. It’s a rainbow and for us, it’s somewhere between the brightest gold and the proudest brown.
