You either fall into the camp that believes there is a need for Black History Month, or you think the effort to squeeze the history of colored people into the shortest month of the year is ridiculous. Or perhaps you fall into both categories.
I was surprised during a recent study session for a social studies test with our third grade son. Name two things that George Washington did? Who was our first president? How long did the Civil War last? You already get the picture, don’t you?
We’ve already discussed slavery, but not in gory or lengthy detail. I suppose more is needed before he learns too much U.S. history and we are faced with filling in the blanks.
Let me add that I haven’t asked his teacher when and if the subject of slavery will come up. I do know that the school does have a Black History Month focus, but perhaps it does what I’ve done, skims the surface.
Two years ago, our son was swimming most afternoons during summer camp. He had a habit of draping his beach towel over his head and pulling it underneath his chin.
A few days into camp, he told me that one of the white kids told him that he looked like a slave when he wore his towel like that. I can remember the sound of the deep breath that I took before I began to ask him some questions.
“How did that make you feel?”
“Was the boy angry or sarcastic when he said it?”
“Would you like me to talk to the camp counselor?”
I couldn’t detect any emotions in his answers. No, it didn’t bother him. No, he wasn’t angry. No, I didn’t need to talk to anyone.
“Okay,” I said, “but I think you look like Jesus.”
I don’t know if that was the best answer to give but since I wasn’t there, I don’t know if the other child was trying to make mine feel bad. In case that was his intent, I wanted to put a positive thought in my son’s head.
But, at the same time, could it have given him a negative thought about slavery?
So, here comes February. I look forward to the wonderful documentaries of the experiences of my ancestors. But, now more than ever, the information that I get has to be shared with those looking to my husband and me for explanations. Those explanations are not just about who our children are, but what they come from as a means to tell them who they can be.
So, maybe I should have told him that the white child got the look right but the timing wrong. And, then, I could have talked about Harriett Tubman or Nat Turner or his great, great, great, grandparents.
And I could have told him that his ancestors went through a great deal so that he could go to any summer camp (we could afford) with all children and wrap his beach towel around his head if he wanted to.
Here’s to making Black History Month real in your lives!