s a r a h c a s m

Over the years, I have acquired quite the collection of dolls from all over the world – but they are not dolls for playing – with porcelain faces, hands, and feet.  When Q was a baby, I put a few out on shelves his room.

He started noticing them a couple of weeks ago, pointing to the dolls and saying “Baby? Baby, please?”  I would take them down and hold them while he stroked their faces and gave them gentle kisses.  I knew it was time to get him his own baby to hug and to hold.  I also knew that it would be easier said than done.

As I set out on my quest, I realized just how difficult a task it would be.

I had 2 criteria for his doll:

1. Not white
2. Gender-neutral (although I was willing to settle for a ‘boy’ doll)

Every store I went to had aisles of white dolls that boasted various features and fancy gimmicks.  The few black dolls were all decked out in pink.  The gender-neutral and ‘boy’ dolls I found were all white.

I went to 5 stores in 3 different cities with no luck and figured I had 2 options.

a: Go to the US and hope to find one there
b: Buy one off the Internet

Neither option worked for me.  That I had would have to go to another country or order online (when I could pick a doll up at any Dollar Store for my white nieces) was absurd and abhorrent to me.

Sure, I could have gotten Q white doll, but my son deserves to have access to a “baby” that resembles him.  It is important to me that his toys and books reflect a balance of racial representation that he will not see on TV, in school books, or (evidently) in his local toy store.

Q's Baby

In the end, this is what I got him.  It barely meets either of my criteria (although it is darker than it looks in the pic),  but he couldn’t wait.   Every night, he was more desperate for a “baby.”

I know that the fact that I haven’t had to deal with (or even encounter) this until my 30s is evidence of the privilege that has been afforded me because of my racial identity.  For my entire life, white privilege has given me access to dolls that resemble me (although ironically, most of the dolls in my collection are neither white nor ‘girls’).

When I brought the doll into the house and Q saw it, his face lit up!  He gleefully screamed “Baby! Baby! Baby!”  Q doesn’t know what colour his “baby” is or what that means, but I hope that this doll (and those to come) contribute in some way to his self-worth and sense of identity.

The other day, I was at the park with my son. While we were there, the local school let out and the playground flooded with high schoolers. There was a group of about 5 relatively close to where we were swinging who were talking about finally being in Grade 9.  I didn’t pay much attention to them, although sometimes it was hard not to overhear their conversations.

As my 18 month old son was innocently swinging, two more young people arrived (of about the same age).  One of the girls who had been hanging out said “Finally! I’ve been waiting for you!”  So, it was obvious that they were familiar with each other.  One of the boys who had been hanging out was white and greeted the approaching boy with “Hey, there’s black boy!”   The white boy continued, saying “I saw this black guy telling black jokes, and they were so funny!”  He proceeded to tell the jokes (which I have heard before, but won’t repeat).

The two youth who had been approaching, both of whom were black, continued to walk.  They walked right by the group of their peers.  Right by the girl who had been waiting for them.  The white boy called after them “Hey, black boy! Where are you going?”  They kept walking, silently, until they were out of sight.  The girl who’d been waiting, who was white, called after them and looked perplexed when they ignored her.  She said to her friends “Where’d they go? Why didn’t they stop?”  Why didn’t they stop?  Really?

Soon after that, the white boy was cursing loudly.  The white girl said “Watch your language! There are kids around!!”  Wow.  I would rather my son hear him swear than to have him be subjected to the racism that we had just witnessed.  I would rather him hear “shit” than black jokes, anyday!

This is what my son has to look forward to.  Regardless of what he says, what he does, or what he thinks, he will be the “black boy.”  What kind of world do we live in where white children judge and mistreat black children based on their racial identity?  Where are they learning supremacist ideologies?  Who is teaching it to them and how is it being reinforced?

I am glad that Q’s father is here to help him through this because I can never know what it is like to be oppressed because of my racial identity.  I can acknowledge my whiteness and recognize the privilege that comes with that, but I can never live the torment of that child on the playground, and I can never put myself in my son’s shoes when he comes home from school and says that someone called him the n-word.

This is not ok.

For more information on white privilege, please read this article.  If you disagree with my take on racism, power, and privilege, I would greatly appreciate it if you read the article before commenting.  Thank you.

Other information on racism in Canada.

Videos of Tim Wise talking about white privilege.

I saw a flower on the track and I stopped racing.

I didn’t give up on the race, but I failed to see the value in it.  Suddenly, it hit me – that little flower – like a ton of bricks. The race was irrelevent. I realized that I didn’t want to reach the finish line and I was in no hurry to get to it.  I was quite happy – happier – taking in the perfection of this tiny flower.

As I examined the delicacy of the flower, more started popping up everywhere.  Right when I was ready to pick up the pace again, a flower would appear in my path.

Soon, my path was lined with petals and I followed it wherever it led me.  As I strolled along, I realized that the flowers hadn’t suddenly appeared, but that I had been going too fast to appreciate them.

Since I stopped racing, I have been receiving a lot – of opportunities, love, time; I have been getting everything I want without looking for or pursuing anything.  Everything has just been falling in my lap, and I’ve embraced it all.

It’s a different life – living reactively – it’s liberating and abundant.  Sometimes, I sit back and marvel at what has been offered up to me just when I seem to want it. It’s remarkable, really.  I am not doing anything to get it.  I am not even seeking it; it is coming to me!

Whomever said that you can’t always get what you want was trying too hard.  Sit back, relax, enjoy the flowers and the red lights, and what you want will come to you.  You just need to be open to receiving it.

Dear Q,

Human identity is almost  entirely based upon the physical form – the body.  Our gender, our race, our ability status, our age, our sexual orientation, our sexuality, etc, are attributes of our physical selves.  Everything except what we know is attached to our physical form.  Our physical form determines our worth.  Right or wrong, that is what I know about the world in which we live.

Our physical form embodies us.  It makes us visible and gives us shape.  Our bodies enable us, and they limit us.  You will not be able to escape the labels that people put upon you based upon your physical form, but remember that it does not represent the essence of you.  It is temporary and when you leave Earth, it will stay here.  You will still exist.

Love,
Mom