To white parents, one size does not fit all
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To white parents, one size does not fit all
Five tips for white parents trying to raise non-racist children
Babysitter. It’s the one thing I never really wanted to be as a kid, although I had more than 100 “The Babysitter’s Club” books and a personal letter from author Ann M. Martin. I have never wanted children, nor do I feel I’m qualified to give people advice about parenthood 99.9 percent of the time. So it always puzzles me when non-black parents will reach out to me as an advice vessel for their child(ren). A very small part of me understands it — there are things I will be able to explain as an African-American woman that non-black parents simply will never experience.
When the stepmother of my college roommate asked me to babysit her child, I fully understood where she was coming from: embarrassment. Her daughter had just asked me were my hands “burned” after seeing the exterior of my hand did not match my palm. From that observation alone, it was pretty obvious she’d never been around many dark-skinned black people. And considering the way this little girl had snuggled up on my lap, we clearly had bonded. While the college roommate and I had a big falling out and I got an off-campus apartment, the one thing I regret most is not staying in touch with her little sister.
Recommended Read: “Melanin talk: The simplest way to discuss race to youth ~ Explaining race and skin tones before racism can begin”
But again, I’m not a parent. I’m also not a representative for all black women, all black people, all Chicagoans, all unmarried women, all short women, all childless women — you get the idea. I am but one of many with opinions. Interestingly though, I still receive the occasional email from an instructor or parent who wants to ask me a question about race. But instead of feeling flattered, I usually end up cringing during the query.
Why? One example of this is an email that came to my inbox this morning from a southern white parent who wanted to run a few incidents by me to get my thoughts. First off, I do appreciate the initiative to reach out to others unlike oneself. But what immediately made me pause was this sentence, “I love your writing style and the fact that you are so forward with current issues (I hate to say race related, but that reflects the times we are living in) and have learned a lot.”
If, in 82 entries of this “I Do See Color” series, you still “hate to say race related,” then we’re already having a problem. I didn’t write 82 posts about race to “hate” to talk about the topic. It is absolutely nothing to be ashamed of. And as far as “the times we are living in,” you mean United States history dating back to the Middle Passage? Because if the reference is to Donald Trump, the 45th (questionable) president didn’t invent nor is he the first to pull any of the horrendous stunts he’s done from 2016 to 2020. That’s a learned behavior that is centuries older than him.
The reason this series was named “I Do See Color” is because I’m fed up with white people insisting on telling me how much they “don’t” see color — as if it’s the elephant in the room. It makes as much sense as saying someone doesn’t “see” someone who is blonde or doesn’t “see” someone who is a woman or doesn’t “see” someone who is wearing a snowsuit. It just is what it is — and if it makes you uncomfortable to “see” it, that’s showing your own insecurities about the topic in itself. I speak up about race because it is the most successful way to put racism (and classism) on the table. I speak up about race with as much gumption as a patriot posting an American flag in his yard. As long as race is considered a dirty little secret, there’s no way for me to talk with a person about it.
The letter was sent from a self-described “average white male, married, with two children and a spouse that teaches 2nd grade here in [state name removed].” The goal of the letter was to send me a few emails about challenges that are being had as someone who grew up in the South “but that wants to raise my kids in a way that race is not an issue.”
And once again, I wince. Race is not an “issue.” It simply is one factor in a large set of factors in one’s identity. I am a black woman who will tell someone this as easily as I would tell them I’m a condo association president and a Toastmasters president and a former storytelling host and a K-12 book editor and a journalist who writes public profile stories. To borrow from Marlo Stanfield (with some poetic license), “My race is my race.” To find it “precious” that a child refers to other students in a classroom by name as opposed to race or actions is setting the bar pretty low.
But I still struggle with questions like this because I truly believe that the intentions are good. The delivery is just so very, very bad. To dismiss the query means I’m shutting down on someone who obviously wants to learn. So I am doing so with reservations. Here are five pieces of advice to white parents (and instructors) that I think could be universally useful — from a black woman who has no business giving anyone parenting advice.
5 pieces of advice for white parents
Befriend black people in person: If you want your child to be less timid around the topic of race and black people, invite more black people into your home. (Reference: “10 ways to figure out if (s)he really has ‘a black friend’ ~ Note: This may not apply for all black people, but it applies to enough”)
Expand your child(ren)’s educational lessons: During a particularly restless day at my grandparents’ house, my grandfather sent me downstairs to his basement to write down Roman numerals from 1–100. I was pissed. I wanted to hang out in his backyard, run in circles in his living room and play board games. But him assigning me to do something I found dreadfully boring made me really good at it. Find books by African-American authors (K-12 and young adult fiction) and make them read and summarize them. Exposure alone makes them better people — and made me nail article outlines in college and for clients in milliseconds. (Reference: “Black book characters make black kids like me want to read more ~ Why Young, Black & Lit is onto something with its literature nonprofits”
Ditch the white savior complex: I have a great great aunt who I loved dearly, but she was constantly telling me stories about how she found someone a job and helped another find a boyfriend and gave another person money. You almost had to say “thank you” to her upon entry in order for her to feel satisfied, as opposed to doing things from the bottom of her heart. Avoid doing this when interacting with black people who you have “helped.” (Reference: “Black people didn’t ask you to ‘save’ them ~Why the savior complex is so exhausting to those who didn’t ask you to be”)
Find other topics to talk about: If you cannot think of the last conversation you had with a black person that didn’t either purposely dodge the topic of race or immediately dive into it, resolve this immediately. Black people are more than just black people. If you feel uncomfortable talking to them about anything besides race, then you need to actively do so — and don’t remind them about how you “don’t see color” 15 times while doing it. (Reference: “White teachers, please stop judging your black students ~ The fine line between empathy, pity and casual racism in education”
Expand your viewing preferences: I had a co-worker who saw “The Help” and immediately bought the book. He wanted to speak at length about the film and Kathryn Stockett, but couldn’t name one African-American author, filmmaker, movie producer or even television show. If your entire entertainment selection revolves around white people’s views of black people, there’s your first problem. Regardless of how you feel about Bill Cosby, have you ever seen an episode of “The Cosby Show”? Did you watch anything past the first season (without Maggie) of “A Different World”? Do you know why “Friends” is such a hard pill to swallow after “Living Single”? Do you know why the late E. Lynn Harris’ books were such a historical part of the LGBTQ+ community for black folks? Do you understand why “Girlfriends” was such an anomaly — even with Kelsey Grammar as the executive producer? If all of this sounds like gibberish, start there. Just look at projects that black people were the stars of and that were created, written and influenced by melanin-rich folks. From Ava Duvernay and Will Packer to James Earl Jones and Eartha Kitt, dig in. And make sure your children see you watching it, too, to normalize the idea of watching something that doesn’t revolve solely around white people. (Reference: “Is it ‘not realistic’ or just not in your world? ~ Please stop saying positive black films and TV are unrealistic”)
Again, I am but one person. Exposure to my writing is something I am both flattered by and appreciate. But the work to open the minds of white children who will almost certainly not experience life like that of black children (or other minority groups) is far more complex than just reading this Medium writer’s content. Most of what you will need to do has to start at your home first. Even more importantly, it will have to start with you, which will then trickle down to their mindsets by default.
Did you enjoy this post? You’re also welcome to check out my Substack columns “Black Girl In a Doggone World,” “Homegrown Tales,” “I Do See Color,” “Tickled,” “We Need to Talk” and “Window Shopping” too. Subscribe to my free weekly newsletter to keep up with all posts at once.
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