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Jodene

reads, writes, speaks, listens & does lots of hand holding

the best description of me is in my words- please read the posts and there you will find me ...

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I'm So Tired of Race.

While listening to an audio-recording by Cornel West, who is described in his Wikipedia entry as a scholar, public intellectual, philosopher, critic, pastor, and civil rights activist (wow…), I was reminded that we can not stop talking about race until race is no longer an issue. Quite the conundrum. I don’t buy it when people say they are color blind- unless they happen to be a male and have difficulty seeing red and green. Then I might. But for the most part, when people say they don’t see race, they better be 2 years old – and in that case how would they even understand the socially constructed concept of race- or indeed, blind. We certainly can’t know too much about a person based on their race, but it can give some clues as to how the world interacts with them and how they may be forced to interact with and in the world.

Yesterday- the first day of school for my 8 year old- he just about blew a gasket. We had not been in the office more than a minute when a child said, “Hi, Kwame!” My son balled up his fists, stamped his foot and yelled, “I’M NOT KWAME!” Yikes. He’s not Kwame- who is a lovely child and whose parents I like a great deal- but my son is not Kwame. He’s the other African American child in the second grade and does not look like Kwame. He’s one of 20 African American children in a school of 400. Ironically, the child who called him by the wrong name is one of four Asian kids in the whole school. I wonder if he gets called the wrong name... 

I had been nervous toward the end of summer as my son’s reticence to return to school grew. I bribed him with some new glasses and tried to convince him that football players can also be scholars. He identifies with being a running back for the Eagles just four short weeks into pee wee tackle football. Not a scholar.

As we walked out to his classroom, his feet stomping and fists still balled, I said, “You know. All Black people look alike.” He cracked a smile and said, “Moooommmmmmyyy.” Sometimes he can barely stand my silliness and sarcastic social commentary. It was enough to get him out of a justifiably foul mood and sprint to the classroom where a few of his friends were bubbling over with excitement for the first day of school.

Honestly, I’ve been dreading moments like these when race matters. My academic mind tells me that race does not exist- it is socially constructed. But for my 8 year old, it’s an annoyance and at those times, I wish it wasn’t an issue. The little boy in the office made a mistake- not malicious- but an honest and innocent mistake. I still wish it hadn’t happened.