I retired from playing video games with my boys.
The frustration involved outweighed the fun I was supposed to be having. There were two large reasons why I hung up my controller. The first reason was that I was no longer able to beat them. The pain I feel in the middle of my chest to the left of my sternum as I admit that makes me flinch. I need a moment…..Okay I’m good.
This pain is a light caress compared to the pain I felt when they would beat me and then fill the air with trash talk. That pain felt like they were ripping my flesh from my bones and submersing me in an alcohol bath. My ability to remain calm and fatherly failed miserably as soon as the flesh ripping trash talk began.
The second reason was the lying by omission. This again peaked my frustration. Somewhere in the middle of a red-hot battle as my character sped across the screen some unknown object or monster-sized character would come out of nowhere and turn me to dust. When I would ask what that was my sons would then reveal a key rule in the game that would have been most beneficial BEFORE we started the game. They claimed they forgot about this crucial rule and nonchalantly continued to beat me to a bleeding pulp. There’s that chest pain again.
They knew the rules better than they knew how to breathe. They just choose to leave out this critical information given me no earthly chance at beating them. The sinister joy that covered their face when they conquered their father was also very disturbing.
When I was about eight years old, a group of friends and I went to the corner store, Brickley’s to get some candy. I was the only child of color in the group and I was excited because it was my first visit to the store. I was given a quarter and told by my Mom to hold my older brother’s hand as we crossed the busy street. When we entered the store I went right to the candy and quickly picked a bag of Gold Rush gum. It cost a quarter. I reached in my pocket and pulled out my quarter and gave it to the old German woman who ran the store. I put the candy in my pocket and stood to the side of the counter waiting for my friends to make their selections.
A few moments later, the German woman began pointing at me and yelling. Her German accent was thick and my panic from being yelled at made it impossible for me to understand what she was saying. She then pointed at my pocket and held out her hand. Then she pointed to the palm of her hand. I was still confused and shocked and scared. I knew something was wrong, but I wasn’t sure what. One of my older friends picked up on what she was trying to say. She wanted me to pay for the candy in my pocket
My problem was I already did.
It was plain to me I did because the quarter I was given was no longer in my pocket. I tried to explain to the excited storeowner that I had already given her my one and only quarter. She demanded I pay her for the gum and in her broken English I clearly heard her say, “You steal!”
To be accused of stealing was humiliating. I hadn’t known this group of friends too long. We just recently moved in to the neighborhood and they didn’t know me too well. The look on their faces told me they weren’t sure if I was a thief or not. I stood motionless, not knowing what to do. I didn’t know how to resolve the situation. Thankfully, a white gentleman who was in the store saw what was happening. He bent down and asked me, “Did you pay for that son?” I nodded my head because speech would have caused the tears, that were damned up behind my eyes, to flow. He reached into his pocket, pulled out a quarter, and put it on the counter.
My friends concluded their transactions and we all returned home and never spoke about the incident in Brickley’s again. I never went back to Brickley’s.
Looking back on that incident, I am convinced I was targeted because I was black. This old German woman believed the stereotype that all blacks were thieves and she made sure I stayed out of her store. Instead of putting the blame on this bitter German woman, I shouldered the blame. I thought there was something I should have done to prevent this incident from happening. I felt like I embarrassed my friends also. That day I lost some height. Leaving the store I walked smaller than when I went in.
No one shared with me the rule that I may be treated differently because my skin is darker than most. I was mid-way through the game and realized the rules that I play by are different. Knowing the rules of the game takes the burden off of me. If I understand that some people may treat me differently because of the tone of my skin before they get to know me, then I can see they are the smaller person NOT me.
“But we have never experienced racism in our town/city/village so telling our child about racism only adds to the problem of racism.”
My answer is the same when I am talking to my kids about video games. Tell me everything that might happen. Explain to me the possibilities that exist. Give me full disclosure as to the rules by which I am playing and then let me play. If I don’t know all the rules when I am playing the game and I lose, I walk away from the game thinking it is me who is bad not the game or the rules.
“At what age do I explain the rules and how do I explain the rules?”
I don’t know.
Each parent knows their own child and what they can understand and what they can’t.
I can only share how I introduced the rules to my son. When my youngest was about seven or eight, the story about the Harvard professor who was arrested on his own front porch was all over the news. We were watching TV together and it was the perfect opportunity to explain the rules. Then I could point out what the police could have done better, and what the professor could have done better. Now if my son ever gets in that situation, he knows the rules and how to play the game to win and the rules have nothing to do with him personally.
Since they can’t retire from the world like I can from video games I have to explain all the rules so they can compete. It is my job to try and prevent the most flesh ripping pain I can.
I appreciate your vignette on the ‘rules’. However, I question how your experience/s differ from those that are truly Black in color. Because you are malatto, you are in the upper echelon–will always be more accepted in a white community–and even many African American communities where being light skinned is somehow, “priveledged”.
LikeLike
Heather,
It has been my experience that being biracial translates in to black as far as the world is concerned. I don’t see many making the distinction. Now, I would agree that very dark skinned blacks are treated differently and more harshly.
The treatment in the black community ebbs and flows. There are times when I am seen as not black enough and then due racism inside our own race light skinned black may be seen as privileged. There have been times in the black community when dark skin was “in” and privileged too.
LikeLike
Heather, I have never seen anyone who is “truly black in color.” I think all people are different shades of brown on a whole spectrum and predjudices exist between all of those shades against those who are lighter or darker. In Kevin’s case, especially during the time period of his childhood, if you had any bit of African American in you… you were African American and a target of discrimination. Unfortunately, this is still true with many people today but it is getting better, for sure.
LikeLike
Amen to that Rachel. Really, who is black? Ok, North Africans ARE truly black. But most AA in America are some range of brown. But I didn’t want to split hairs on the subject.
However, do you really think it’s getting better? I sure haven’t seen racism getting better. I just see PC language masking the truth.
LikeLike
That is the paradox. Biracial means, “two.” But in our society it does translate into, “one”. And that “one” is always black. But in many places in Africa, it’s also translated– only it means, “one”–white. Odd, huh.
As long as their is sin in the world, there will be inequalities among humans. I have to rememer this when dealing with situations where the ‘rules’ are in full swing.
LikeLike
I keep thinking about how much love and adoration my daughter, whom we were blessed with through adoption, gets from our friends, neighbors and total strangers in our community. ANY 15 month old would get attention, but we’re “special” because she’s black and we’re not. Folks even stopped us today because our daughter was NOT with us. Don’t know them by name, but they were demanding to know why we didn’t bring our daughter to their restaurant this morning!
What’s going to happen when she’s 8? When we’ve moved and folks don’t know her by name or her adoption story? what’s going to happen when she’s 14, and confronted without us? How do we trasition her from cute little baby into a strong black woman? This very idea kept me up at night after our referral, but before we met her.
LikeLike
Erika, you are experiencing what I did when my 6 year old was little. The same thing–our daughters are a novelty because they are beautiful, little girls in a white family. So cute and the adoption story worth listening to. But now that my daughter is 6 and though still small and adorable, it’s primarily the opposite–I get tons of compliments wherever I go on my BIO daughter(3) and my adopted daughter–none. She just gets ignored. It is a subject to reconcile with. And I still don’t know how to handle it without boiling inside. And one of the most common questions I get when I’m with both daughters is, “are you doing daycare?” Oh, how I dislike that one. But the Christian in me presses me on to keep my mouth shut and not say something I shouldn’t, but to always point out that BOTH my daughters are adorable, thank you. But as Kevin wrote about, these are the ‘rules’ we are forced to live by! And I totally agree with Kevin that as we slowly and carefully teach our children, bio or not, that in our world there are those that are going to judge us and stereotype us and dislike us based on some exterior quality–and to forgive. Both my daughters know that when someone is mean to them at a play area, they are to forgive them and walk away. It’s something I wish my parents had taught me at an early age. I may be white, but we ALL have and have had judges in our lives.
My best advice is to choose your words carefully, and age appropriately. Teach your daughter to be proud of WHO she is–regardless of her skin color. Don’t accentuate the color, but the person. It’s her self-confidence that will get her through those tough issues she’s bound to face soon.
LikeLike
Heather, thank you for your comment. It’s the same with my daughter who is almost 2. The older she gets the less people are in aw of her. We’re planning a move and I wonder the same things. What are people going to think meeting us for the first time not knowing our family.
I wish I could find a female Kevin out there, no offense Kevin, that will tell us what it was like for a black girl growing up in a transracial family.
But what you said about your parents teaching you to forgive and walk away I think is the best way to go about it all for now as she’s little. Thanks!
LikeLike
Slightly related to “rules” are the “things white moms of black children wonder about” list:
Is it wrong that my black children love Curious George when it makes me cringe? Should I ban Curious George? Am I being ridiculous?
Is it wrong when my kids do that “eeny meeny miney moe” thing when it makes me cringe? Should I (can I even) ban it? Am I being ridiculous?
Slang? Rap? Dress? Speech?
When does my cringing say more about me and less about them? What if I miss something that I should cringe about?
Discipline in public? The barber shop?
Kevin, I think you should get out your surgery tools and go for it! 🙂
LikeLike
mmm, splitting hairs over degrees of colour . . . our son is asian, only 5 now, but in kinder at the age of 4 the worst racism came from other asian kids whose parents had taught them that they were better because they were lighter than both my son & some african kids who were considerably darker. wont go into detail here but many of the ‘white’ kids were co-opted into this by the ‘other’ asian kids . . . kindergarten politics is as bad as it gets. AND some of us never grow up. at the time i tried my best to equip him, i suspect i didnt help much, i could have done with knowing more about “the rules” then but shall certainly sharpen up now. although i am white i can be taught, so please dont stop helping me sharpen my senses to what my son needs from me – however imperfect my expereince about this might be because i am white – it is better than nothing, better than hoping it will all go away, better than avoiding uncomfortable conversations within our family.
thanks kevin.
LikeLike
You are an eloquent writer, thank you. From learning how to parent my dear daughter I know that she needs every ounce of information I have to give her. She is Asian and I am Caucasian. I know she has dealt with racism because I heard it. Thank the Lord she was too young to understand at the time, but it taught me a very valuable lesson. That lesson is that my daughter does live by different rules due to the color of her skin and the history of her life.
Being a multi-racial family we too have different rules that we live by, but there is a crucial difference in our experience versus her experience. We can blend in at any point we want to. I can go to the corner store and not be questioned or stared at. My daughter cannot.
She doesn’t get too many of the stereotype comments, yet, but when we are out in public we have dealt with intrusive questions about her adoption and her early life. We have heard the label “China doll,” and I cringe each time I hear it. I know more racial slurs are lurking in the corner and I pray when they come she will feel safe enough to confide in me. I pray we can talk about them and the humiliation and shame they provoke in her. I also pray that through all the therapeutic work we have done she will be able to hand back that shame to the person who needs to carry it, the perpetrator, and not shoulder it herself.
LikeLike
Kevin, that conversation about Dr. Gates may be the first where you consciously set out the rules, but I’m willing to bet that you’d been laying at least the groundwork for them for a good many years before that. I know that I started talking about bias with my daughter when she was 2 or 3, and at that time it was about boys and girls, and what people think boys shouldn’t do and girls should and shouldn’t do. I think kids tune into that a lot sooner than race. We’ve expanded from there to talk about race, both historically (slavery, Chinese Exclusion, Japanese internment, etc.) and now, especially when Obama was elected what a huge step that was. (And yeah, the racists don’t care that he’s half white – probably makes some of them hate even more.) All of that general discussion about bias and stereotyping lays the groundwork for specific discussions about how the “rules” may apply to them.
LikeLike
Thanks for the blog post, lots to think about.
To the previous posters. I have a 1 year old black daughter and a 6 year old bi-racial son. People comment on her so much more than my son. I think it might be a baby thing.
But in some cases, you know it is less about compliments and more about being nosy.
LikeLike