Ooops…..My Bad

Little Dude is swiftly approaching his seventh birthday.  Like every parent, I have no idea where the time ran off to…I’m pretty sure it was only yesterday that we were celebrating his first day home from the hospital.  
 

In the 6 plus years that I’ve had the honor of being Gabriel’s Mother, I’ve grown right alongside him.  I have become braver, stronger, more assertive, more responsible and much, much more verbal.  No joke. 

A recent study claims that the average person speaks 16,000 words a day. I swear, on any given non school day I can hit that mark by 11 am. 

 

My child is sightless.  There is a whole world out there that needs describing.  There are scores of books that need reading.  Hell, just navigating our way from the house to the car requires quite a bit of communication.  

However, in all of those words, in all of these years….I forgot something.  Something kind of significant.  I forgot to tell the Dude that people come in different colors.  Seriously. Plum forgot.  My bad.  I'm not sure how it never came up, it just didn't.

The Island we live on is an absolute melting pot.  There are people here from all over the world.  Gabriel has spent time with people of different nationalities who speak different languages all of his life.  It was only just recently that he asked a friend of ours, Bob, who happens to be Ebony* why his hair felt different.

I was not present when Gabriel asked his original question but here was the part of the conversation I caught:

Bob:  Because I have Black People hair.   

Gabriel: What?

Bob: I have Black People hair.

Gabriel: What’s Black People hair?

Bob: Well Black People have different hair than White People.

Gabriel: What? Am I White?

At this point Bob notices me standing in the doorway overhearing this bizarre exchange.  I shoot him my best ‘I’m a charmingly adorable idiot’ smile and took over.

Me:  Yes, baby.  You’re White.

Gabriel:  How do you know?

Me: You can’t dance.

Bob: Amen.

Me: Plus, I can see you.  I see that you have white skin. People have different skin color based on the climate their ancestors lived in a long time ago.

Gabriel: What?

Me (internally): Oh, shit.

Me (externally): Well, we read about the climate of Africa, right?

Gabriel: Yeah, it’s hot and dry.

Me: Not only is it hot, but it’s hot all the time and there is very little shade.  The people who live there have dark skin to protect them from the Sun.  Now, my ancestors are from Ireland. When they do see the Sun over there they feel vaguely nervous because it’s such a rare occurrence, so the people tend to be very pale.

Gabriel: So…people come in different colors.  Like Fruit Loops.

Me:  Ummmm…..yeah. Kinda.

Gabriel: Do they come in Purple?^

Me: No.

Bob: Yeah.

Me: What?

Bob:  I have an Uncle who’s so Black he looks Purple.

Me: Don’t confuse him.

Gabriel:  Can I grow up to be Purple???

Me: Not without extensive body tattoos.

The conversation deteriorated into supreme silliness at that point, but it opened the doors to discussions about the differences in human beings.  This is a subject that people usually approach with trepidation, because it’s so sensitive. 

Unless you’re a six year old blind dude.

The following day I picked Gabriel up from school.  He opened the door of his classroom, escorted by one of his friends and screamed at the top of his lungs:

“Hey, Mom!! This is Rochelle. You know Rochelle??  She’s Black!!!  I found out because she has Black People hair!!!  I told her she’s Black but she already knew…. She’s Black!!!”

They have not invented a word, in any language, that could accurately describe the level of mortification I felt at that insanely awkward moment.

But then I looked at the kids.  They were both smiling.  

Rochellle laughed and said, “Yep.  I’m black.”

I laughed (awkwardly) and said, “Yeah, you are.  And I’m White.”

Rochelle laughed and said, “Yeah, you are.”

Gabriel laughed and said, “I’m White. At least for now. Maybe one day I’ll be a Purple tattoo.”

The week that followed was ripe with conversation about the color differences in people.  When he found out that both Stevie Wonder and Ray Charles are black men he shrieked, “Oh, Man!! I love Black People! Why can’t I be Black, too??”  

 Thank God that was a private dialogue.

No.  I’m kidding.  We were in a very crowded Supermarket.+

Since then, we’ve covered the gauntlet of the shades that human beings come in:  Ebony, Ivory, Mahogany, Mocha, Cinnamon, Tan, Beige....you get the point.

We’ve also spoken about some intrinsic differences in people from different places on a Biological level.  I’ve taught him to be a bit more subtle about the whole issue, but I never really made a big deal of it and like every phase of childhood it passed.

Now Gabriel knows about the differences in people but guess what? 

He doesn't care.  It doesn't matter to him.

And you know what else?

It never will.

A wise old adage dictates that you should never judge a book by its cover, but how many of us can really ignore what we see?  How many of us can meet a new person and have absolutely no preconceived notion of what that person is based on how they dress, what they look like, or how well they conform to ‘typical’ social constructs? 

I tell my son something that others might find strange.  I tell him that in a way, he’s lucky.  Because although he has no vision, he sees with his heart…and that is truly the clearest sight there is.

*Yes.  Ebony.  Deal with it.

^ Gabriel went through a phase when he was smaller where he really wanted to be Purple.  I’d thought that I mentioned the different colors people come in at that point, but either I didn’t or it was so inconsequential to him that he forgot.  

+My ‘I’m a charmingly adorable idiot smile’ might be one of my greatest assets in life.  Especially when Little Dude’s curiosity extended to him asking people straight up what color they are.  Funny thing?  No body ever minded.