In the process of educating myself on race, I slowly became conscious of the fact that I would need to tackle the subject head on with my children if I wanted them to be confident and proud of who they are. Being mixed race is a point of strength, biologically speaking, and I wanted it to be so in their hearts and minds too. I didn’t want race to be an incidental factor in their lives, semi-ignored and barely mentioned, until such time as it is highlighted by others from outside the home - be it positively or negatively, superficially or more profoundly. While I value the magic and innocence of childhood, I think it is equally important to encourage children to talk about the things they see around them (including themselves), with truthfulness and respect.
3 Comments
Learning about race (prompted in no small way by having mixed race daughters myself) has become a passion of mine. Shamefully, I have come to the subject very late and am having to do a lot of unlearning. By unlearning I mean such things as questioning previously accepted assumptions, and trying to see history and reality from another angle to the one I was raised with in the UK. It started with meeting my husband who, while born and raised in France, is originally from Ivory Coast. Becoming part of his family and simply having more conversations about race - the interesting parts, the uncomfortable parts - really opened my eyes. And I realised what a responsibility I had, as a white mother, to be informed and proactive. The colour of my daughters' skin is not an aesthetic; it is something that will shape their lives, and something that has been devalued and made into a disadvantage throughout history’s white narrative. Spiritual. Such a confusing word. There are probably as many different connotations for it as there are for ‘happiness’ or ‘work’; it just seems so subjective. And because the word is used in so many contexts, it can often be misleading, or alienating. Does it mean religious? Mystical? Weird? Unscientific? Does it relate to me or not? I have a three year old. An exuberant, charismatic, chatty three year old who is wondrously curious about everything. But not long ago, I had a tiny newborn in my arms and I was learning all about motherhood for the first time. Not long ago, conversations pivoted around questions like ‘how old is she?’, ‘how is she sleeping?’, and ‘are you breastfeeding?’. General appreciative compliments abounded, and support was extensive when it came to physical matters like weighing your baby or consulting lactation experts or starting on solids. In a couple of years, questions will no doubt be posed at my daughter directly - ‘how old are you?’, ‘do you like school?’, ‘what’s your favourite subject?’. But for now, I have a three year old. Which means a few things. I am experiencing the indeterminate, ‘in between’ phase of early childhood, when my daughter is no longer a toddler, but is not yet in school. People tend to compliment her on what she looks like or what she’s wearing rather than have conversations with her (because she is three, maybe, there is not much expectation of her ability to converse). Motherhood is more ‘new’ feeling and intense and demanding than ever before, but there is much less conversation about it - and much less interest in me and my child overall (I don’t mean this melodramatically; simply that we, as a duo, are not novelties anymore). I may still be dealing with ‘toddler matters’ like weening and potty training, but suddenly these are not such acceptable topics to be discussing openly in the way I could before. Even between friends, questions around challenges are often shared in lowered tones, tinged with shame or guilt - ‘is your little one having a lot of tantrums too?’, ‘is she still wearing a nappy at night?’. And speaking of questions - they are rarely asked by others at all in this phase; there is simply a calm assumption that I am not ‘new at this’ anymore and that I must now know what I am doing. The smell of Malta after a hot summer’s day, when the light is soft and pink, the air is still, and the buildings rise up like luminous sand castles left behind at the beach, is distinctly special. For a brief time, it makes you forget the hot, challenging hours that went before it. It is the lover’s gift after feuds and tears; the smell of contentment, of peace. I start to remember myself again - my aspirations and purpose. I realise I have been lost in survival mode. What a power is heat to oppress the senses and mind! Here in this mellow respite I can breathe in the memories of the day and notice things again. Isn’t it a wonderful feeling when your mind expands and understands something new? Or when you gain a fresh perspective, or feel inspired by a different way of thinking? I’m starting to realise that this all-important stimulation of the intellect - and heart - is highly undervalued, but absolutely critical, for mothers of young children. It is so easy to become overtaken by practical duties and emotional reactions, and subtly, your identity is reduced to what you are doing or feeling in the moment. But we are so much more than that - and remembering the potential of life is, surely, essential to developing it. I am part of an informal community: a group of mothers who are my friends and who are exploring the same questions and interests that permeate - or flood - my own life. Like most groups of friends, we didn’t seek each other out exactly, but somehow found support and solace in a common experience. Essentially, we are trying to nurture our young children in ways that are as meaningful and natural as possible. There is much to decide, and the huge spectrum of considerations can feel daunting and enthralling to a new mother who feels like her eyes have just been opened to another world. There is breastfeeding; nutrition and ways of eating; responding to crying and sleeping; vaccinations; what products are best and natural on precious new skin; what kinds of nappies, if any, to use and when to stop using them; how to carry your baby; what clothes, fabrics, bedding, approaches to healing, and toys are best; and of course, the issue of screen time. As our eyes and minds widen to new ideas, so the scope of scrutiny grows exponentially. It can seem suffocating to list the choices a parent faces like this, which is ironic in itself for those of us wishing to live life more simply..... I was Whatsapp-reflecting with a friend the other day (n.b. this is a special kind of reflection, popular amongst parents who have little time to converse, involving diary-like voice notes which serve to articulate - and in the process clarify - a range of thoughts for both others and ourselves). He mentioned that he notices a kind of competition between families, even when they are already friends, in the way that personal challenges are shared. Or rather, in the way that they’re not shared - for fear of giving a less than perfect impression of how one is coping as a mother or father. I realised then that there is actually a lot of shame associated with parenting today. Shame that we are not doing it quite right, or loving every moment as we should, or following through on all that we’d planned to do. How utterly tragic that on top of every other emotion that a parent goes through on a daily basis, he or she might also feel ashamed that things are simply not as they should be.
To live together as brothers and sisters: a hope that transcends time, ethnicity and borders. If the purpose of religion were to be reduced to one thing, it might be reduced to this. It is a sentiment that has spilled into almost every aspect of culture - song, poetry, everyday language. To call someone a sister or a brother is to acknowledge deep ties, to claim solidarity, to promise acceptance and loyalty. But it is only since having a second child of my own, that I have really thought about what it means to be brothers and sisters. And more than that - how to raise up brothers and sisters. How do we foster this relationship as parents and siblings? And how do we extend it beyond our own blood relatives? If this is the ultimate goal for all humanity, how do we start in our own lives? Today is International Women’s Day, and I love that there is now so much to collectively celebrate as well as champion. We’ve come such a long way in such a short time. Certainly it is easy to notice both the glaring and subtle inequalities that persist in the opportunities afforded to men and women, and in their representation (or lack thereof) across all aspects of culture. But the immense progress made in the advancement of women as equal and potent protagonists in the building of society, over the last century particularly, is nothing short of astounding. One aspect that resonates with me particularly is the rise of the voice of the mother. In what can be seen in historical terms as occurring with breathtaking swiftness, she has emerged from almost total obscurity to claim her rightful, powerful place in humanity’s great evolution. |
|