Black Monster

Today at day camp, a little turd, er, um, boy, named Enrique, called Jolie a monstruo negro, black monster. I'm glad I wasn't the one to pick up the kids today. My gut reaction to something like that is to kick his @$$. After two seconds, logic and that ever-so-present nagging parent voice in my head asks "How can we make this a teachable moment?" Kicking his keister would be so much more gratifying. Mature, I know.

Since Enrique isn't available for either teaching or a swift one in the fanny, Eugene and I have to deal with the aftermath on this end. When Jolie is beyond the emotional moment she fully gets that Enrique's meanness is HIS problem. We pointed out to her that just by him saying that he showed everyone else he is ignorant, racist and mean, whereas no one's opinion of her changed except maybe for the kid who doesn't feel all that good about himself and is intimidated by kids who are either smart, fast, talented, strong or beautiful. Or in Jolie's case, all of the above.

It is difficult to teach your child to take the high road; especially when she faces racism; and especially when I, as the parent, have a low-road kind of gut reaction. To turn the other cheek and not allow those hurtful things into your heart...how do you teach that?

The teachers at the day camp did handle the problem. Enrique had consequences, but also one teacher apparently had a talk with him with the point of "you are white, she is black, but you both are kids."

I have a book in Spanish, a children's book, called "Why Are We Different Colors?" And it approaches race from a scientific point of view. Guess what's going to day camp tomorrow.