Race

One of the most disappointing things I ever heard my daughter say was last night when she whispered, "Mommy, I wish I were white like my friend Claire." Well, shit. I would rather that she started swearing like a sailor. It's easy to teach someone not to curse, not so easy to teach a child to like herself the way she is, especially when it's something she can't change, like her skin color.

Her brother never really went through this, at least not so young. He was aware that his skin tone was different from his friends', but for him that just led to observations and questions without judgment. "Mom, do white people float?" and other gems, such as, "Mom, why are you undercooked?" (Yes, white people float and I am not undercooked, darnit - just pink!)

I always consider both my kids the best of me and my husband. Their skin is a combination of ours - my son's is more tawny and my daughter's is more iced mocha. My son is my wonderful, literal mad scientist, who will find a way to build anything whether he actually has the materials or not (I don't know many kids who managed to build a trebouchet out of a tree at age 5, but the desire to fling himself into the next neighborhood was just too strong) and who loves math because there's always an answer.

My daughter is my overachiever who gets to the heart of things even when you omit age-inappropriate commentary, who taught herself to read early because she didn't feel like waiting for her turn at bedtime and decided one day last week that it was time for her to tie her own shoes and actually managed to do it. She also cares a hell of a lot more about what people think of her. She's me, only way smarter.

I tell her that her skin color is beautiful, whether she's white or brown or bright green. But I can tell she's not convinced. And it sucks, sucks, sucks. Hopefully she'll internalize it. Half her family is either the deep mahogany of Southern India or slightly fairer latte of the North. The other half is shades of ivory and alabaster with freckles tossed in for good measure. But whether we're dark, light or somewhere in between, we are who we are. I wouldn't change any of us for a second (though it'd be nice if she stopped scaring the bejeezus out of me at 2 a.m.).