I could subtitle this: I Have Screwed Up and Now I Must Fix It

Today Madison had ballet class. She was so excited. The night before she danced around and clapped her hands saying, “Tomorrow is ballet!” She picked out her ballet shirt and her tutu and asked me to fix her hair just like her ballet teacher’s. (Pulled into a simply ponytail.) She said, “I’m sure I’m going to do it all by myself this time! Again and again!” She skipped across the parking lot, calling “hi!” to one of the other ballet girls on the way. She skipped into the center, stopping to say hello to the woman who staffs the front desk. She greeted her teacher with an excited, “My hair is like yours!” And then skipped into the room to say hello to the other girls. She introduced herself to one (another Maddie) and to another whose name begins with E. She much admires E.

E. was sliding around in her tights, slipping across the floor and falling in her mother’s arms. One of the other girls was trying to slip, too, only she had bare feet so they were sticking to the floor. E’s mother said, “I think that you won’t be able to slip in bare skin. Bare skin can be kind of sticky and sweaty and it’s not very slippery.” Madison — standing to the side and watching — said, “I have brown skin.”

“I know you do,” said E’s mom. “It’s so beautiful, too.”

Oh — did I mention everyone in the class is white? Except Madison? Well, they are.

Madison came running across the room and buried her head in my chest.

“I don’t want to do ballet,” she mumbled into my shirt.

She cried 3/4 of the way through the class. I stood next to her and held her hand and at one point took her out of the room because she was so beside herself. I finally — with the excellent teacher’s help — got her to skip across the room in the path of the other girls. I was standing back to the side watching her tremulous smile as she twirled her way and I started to cry. Because when I took her out of the room she said, “I have brown skin and it’s not sticky.” And I said, “Madison, all skin acts the same way whatever color it is. It is all the same. Your skin is just like mine except that we have different colors.” And she said, “But you’re still my mommy.”

When we got home and were sitting down eating lunch I said, “You know, Madison, I know that you are the only person in that ballet class with brown skin. I think that must get tiring to feel different so I think we need to find another dance class where there are other children with brown skin.”

“Oh yes,” she said. “I want a class where it is ALL childrens with brown skin.”

“I think one reason ballet class was feeling hard today is that you were feeling uncomfortable after you talked to that mommy about sticky skin. I think you were feeling different.”

“Brown skin is not sticky,” she affirmed.

“All skin gets sticky,” I told her. “Because all skin acts the same way whatever color it is. When your feet get sweaty they stick on the floor and you can’t slide around. But still, it must be tiring to be the only kid with brown skin all the time.”

She agreed that this was so and I promised her that I would find her a class where there would be lots of brown skinned girls.

I slacked off. We had our affirmative action babysitter program but then we didn’t need our babysitter’s services anymore. Than we found the preschool where there was a black teacher and brown skinned kids were in the majority but she didn’t like to be there. And so I took the easy way out because we were already running Noah around so heck, why not just sign her up there at the same rec center figuring, hey, there are some black kids here and there (most — if not all — of ‘em with white moms). No big deal. Well, clearly big deal. There are two other more diverse rec centers within close driving distance and I was just too lazy to look up the classes there. Yeah, it’s all understandable but my kid is the one who has to pay for it.

I just wish that these lessons I need to learn didn’t come at my kid’s expense.

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