I wish my daughter didn’t sit and stew on bad things for a week at a time before she brought them to me. Like tonight, she told me that when we were last at the public pool some boys taunted her saying her friend has skin like poo. I shouldn’t be as surprised as I am, and I certainly shouldn’t be as wounded as I am. I mean, it is a weak and stupid jab as far as racism goes, but still, I love her friend and so does Lauca. And the insult was course and blatant and perfectly pitched for its four year old target.
The thought of her friend being hurt. Oh god. I feel sad and appalled and kind of defeated too. I mean, two little girls playing in the pool, for fucksake, absolutely delighted with themselves and their swimming skills and some little monsters come and ruin that for them. Lauca thinks her friend didn’t hear them, but I wonder, has her friend had to learn already how to look away? I wish I had seen it myself, I wish Lauca had come to me right away, I wish Lauca had known how to handle a situation like this, how to defend herself and her friend.
Strategies for dealing with racism, as contextualised for a pre-schooler.
We’re terribly close, the mother of that little friend and I, but never mind our different ethnic backgrounds and skin colours here is where we really differ: I am wondering tonight how to broach that awful topic with my daughter, whereas she has probably had to some time ago with her own.