People I Want to Punch in the Throat (9 page)

“Well, me and Oscar and Brice chase Sharu around the playground. We have to catch him and put him in jail. If he catches us first, though, he turns our skin dark and then we’re bad guys.”

My heart was racing.
Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God. WTF? The Hubs is going to kill me when he hears this. He’ll make us move back to New York. I can’t go back. I just can’t. I can’t live in a two-bedroom apartment with my kids. We can’t afford private school. I can’t live with my in-laws. I can’t go back to an office job. I have to fix this!

“So you and Oscar and Brice are always good?”

“Yes, because we’re white. Sharu isn’t. So he’s bad. People with dark skin are bad.”

Holy shit! My child is a racist!

“Gomer!”
Stay calm
, I thought. “Why would you say such a thing? Where did you hear this? We’ve never taught you that before!”

“Oscar told us. He said that he likes Spider-Man, and dark Spider-Man is bad.”
Stupid superheroes!

“Gomer, I don’t know anything about Spider-Man, but I can tell you that Spider-Man has nothing to do with real people. You can’t say that all dark people are bad. Look at Daddy. He isn’t white. Is he bad?”

“No, because you make him okay. Oscar says that Daddy’s
okay because you’re not dark. You make Daddy better.”
Wow, Oscar has a whole lot of theories, doesn’t he? I can’t wait to call his mother and have this conversation!

“Gomer, does Oscar not like anyone who isn’t white?”

“I think so. He doesn’t like Nikhil, either.” Nikhil was another Indian boy in the class. He was in a wheelchair. “But he won’t let Nikhil play because he can’t run.”

So much for my empathetic and understanding child! What the hell was he learning at school?

“Gomer, this is an awful game you’re playing and I forbid you to play it anymore,” I told him.

“Why?”

“Because you’re telling Sharu that he’s bad because his skin is dark.”

“You mean because he’s not white.”

“Gomer, stop saying that!” Suddenly I realized there was a disconnect with him. “Gomer, you do understand that you’re not white, either, right?” Ever since Gomer was a baby we’d been telling him that he was half Caucasian and half Chinese. This information should not have been a surprise to Gomer, yet it appeared to be. Apparently we had not done a very good job explaining his ethnicity to him.

His face turned red, his eyes scrunched up, and he wailed,
“That’s not true!”

“Gomer, stop that. Of course it’s true! What’s wrong with you? You know that you’re half Chinese!”

“Oscar says I’m not. Oscar says I look like I’m white, so I don’t have to be a big dark monster. If I’m half Chinese, then Oscar won’t play with me.”

“Well, you know what? Oscar sounds like a terrible person, so I think not playing with him is a good idea anyway.”

That night I called the teacher and told her about the game the boys were playing. Ms. Rebecca is one of the nicest ladies you’ll ever leave your kids with, but she refuses to believe the worst about anyone.

“Sometimes this happens in preschool,” she explained. “The kids are learning to sort. They sort bricks and toys, and sometimes they sort people, either by hair color or by skin color. It’s just a stage they go through.”

“I don’t think this is a stage, Rebecca. They’re excluding a child because of his skin color! That’s racism.”

“They’re three, Jen. They don’t even know what racism is.”

“They do if they’ve been taught that at home. I want the number for Oscar’s parents. I want to speak to them.”

“They’re on the do-not-share list. They want their number kept private.”

“Are you kidding me? Of course they do, because they know their kid is a little shit!”

“I can ask the counselor to send home some book titles that might help you and Gomer work through this together.”

“I don’t want books from the counselor! I want to speak to Oscar’s parents.”

“I’m sorry, but I can’t share their information with you.”

“Fine. Then I at least want Oscar to be kept away from Gomer.”

“There are only twelve kids in the class. How can I do that?”

“I don’t know, but I want this game stopped.”

“Jen, it’s good for them to have imaginative play.”

“Rebecca, not like this!”

“Sharu hasn’t complained.”

“That’s because he’s three! He doesn’t realize what’s happening. Look, I’m coming up to the school tomorrow with Gomer and I’ll put an end to it if you won’t.”

The next day I went to class with Gomer. I quickly realized that Oscar knew
exactly
what he was doing. It wasn’t a game that he played just on the playground, he played it all day long.

“No one share markers with Sharu,” Oscar whispered to his classmates around the table. “He’s a big dark monster.”

When he saw me glare at him, he doubled down. At the circle rug he said, “Whoever sits by Sharu will be a big dark
ugly
monster.”

At snack time Sharu passed out snacks, and Oscar told the group, “If you eat the big dark monster’s snacks, you’ll get sick and might die.”

“Okay! That’s it!” I announced. “Oscar, it’s time for you and me to have a talk.” I got down in his face and whispered, “Listen to me, Oscar. I don’t know where you learned to treat people like this, but let me tell you something, it’s completely unacceptable. If you continue down this path, you will grow up to be an ignorant jerk. Is that what you want? Sharu is not a bad person because he has dark skin, but
you
are a bad person, because you are stupid. He can’t change his skin color, but you can change your attitude.”

“I’m going to tell my mother you called me stupid!” he said.

“Oh, please do, because I would love to have your mother call me. You be sure and tell her everything I said.”

When I got home that day, the Hubs met me at the door. “Do you have something you want to tell me?” he asked.

“What do you mean?” I asked innocently.
Did Oscar’s mother call?

“The school counselor called with some book suggestions for Gomer.”

“Oh.”

“It’s weird. A lot of them are the ‘I’m okay, you’re okay’ type.”

“Okay, great.”

“Jen. You were gone all day at school with Gomer, the counselor called with book selections implying our kid is going through something kind of big, and now you look guilty. What’s going on?”

I couldn’t keep it in any longer. I blurted out, “Gomer’s a racist! We’re raising a racist! It’s everything you feared! He doesn’t even know his ethnicity! He thinks he’s white, and he thinks that everyone who is darker-colored than him is bad!”

“Oh man, is that all?” the Hubs asked.

“Is that all? Isn’t that enough? Did you hear what I said? He’s a racist!”

“Eh, he’s a little kid. He doesn’t know any better.”

“He plays a game at school where they call Sharu a big dark monster and he sees nothing wrong with that. We suck as parents!”

“Jen, you’re blowing it way out of proportion. Let me guess, it’s that Oscar kid who started the game, right?”

“Yes. How did you know?”

“I figured. His dad gave me the once-over at drop-off a few weeks ago. I could tell he was shocked to see me with Gomer. It had never occurred to him that Gomer was biracial.”

“He did? Oh shit. Now you want to move, don’t you? You want to go back to New York?”

“No. I’m too spoiled by our square footage now to go back. Look, this is going to happen wherever we live. We just have to stay on top of it and do what we can to help our kids cope. But you have to let me know what’s going on. I’ve been worried sick all day.”

“You have?”

“Of course.”

“I was failing at parenting.”

“Well, next time, let’s fail together, okay?”

“Okay.”

“You freaked me out.”

“I did?”

“Yeah! Look at the titles of these books:
It’s Not Your Fault That You Feel Like This
and
I Know You’re Sad, but It Will Be Okay
. I thought you were divorcing me!”

Oh please, Hubs. If I were divorcing you, the book title would be
Clean Out Your Closet ’Cause I’m Tired of Your Shit
.

It’s hard enough for my kids to make friends, but it’s even harder when I can’t stand the moms. Yeah, the Hubs and I have two kids. Gomer seemed fairly easy and so we decided to roll the dice and see if we could get two easy kids. We got Adolpha. That kid was born pissed off. If anyone should be irritated, it should be Gomer. She arrived on his second birthday, forcing him to forever share
everything
from that point on—even his birthday. She cried a lot, hated to be held, and loved to hit anytime she couldn’t have her own way, but Gomer was thrilled to have her. Over time she warmed up to him—but
only
him. In her eyes the rest of us are still second-class citizens compared to Gomer.

Adolpha has been anxious for a friend since she was born. She wanted to go to school at two just so she could find someone to play with. Lots of younger siblings want to go to school so they can learn to read or draw, but not Adolpha. She didn’t care about reading and writing and drawing; she wanted to have playdates and sleepovers like Gomer.

As soon as she hit preschool, she started begging me to book her social calendar.

Although I’m one of the least feminine people you’ll meet, I gave birth to a princess. In those days Adolpha would only wear pink or purple—preferably with a feather boa or a tiara—and she refused to play with boys. There weren’t too many girls to choose from because her class was heavy on boys. I tried arranging playdates. I asked a couple of moms if their daughters could come and play, but they had various (normal) reasons why their kids couldn’t come over—dance class, gymnastics class, and so on.

“What about Evelyn?” Adolpha asked me.

“Who?” I asked.

“Evelyn. You didn’t ask her.”

She was right. I didn’t see Evelyn’s name on the list the teacher had given me. The next time I picked up Adolpha, I asked the teacher about Evelyn.

“Oh yes, they asked not to be on the contact list,” the teacher told me.

“Really? That seems odd. Don’t they want Evelyn to be invited to play or to birthday parties?” I asked.

“I’m not sure,” the teacher replied. “Her mom is real … protective.”

“I see,” I said.

“There’s Evelyn!” Adolpha yelled, tugging my hand.

I looked up and saw a woman carrying her toddler. Adolpha and I went up to them.

“Hi,” I said, sticking out my hand. “I’m Jen. Adolpha’s mom.”

“I figured,” she replied, ignoring my hand. “I’ve kind of got my hands full here.”

Okay, she’s a tough one
, I thought.
Adolpha likes her kid, though, and wants a playdate. Don’t screw this up
.

I continued, “So, Adolpha wanted to know if Evelyn can come over one day this week and play.”

“I don’t know you” was the reply I got.

I was a little taken aback.
That’s harsh. Maybe she’s having a bad day?
“Well, that’s true. As I said before, I’m Adolpha’s mom. I’ve been coming to this preschool for three years now. My son, Gomer, was also a student here, and we’ve had Ms. Rebecca the whole time.
She
knows me.”

“I understand you’re Adolpha’s mother and maybe Ms. Rebecca knows you, but
I
don’t know you. I barely know Ms. Rebecca.”

I was dumbfounded. I had no idea how to reply to this.

I didn’t know what else to say, so I repeated myself like an asshole: “As I said, I’m Adolpha’s mother, Jen.” As if that was going to make her feel better.
Ohhh, you’re Jen. I didn’t catch your name the first three times you said it. Thanks for continually repeating it. Now I know you!
I tried, “Adolpha would love to have Evelyn over to play. Just for an hour or so.”

“I’m not comfortable having Evelyn in your house. I don’t know you.”

If she said “I don’t know you” one more time, I was going to scream,
I don’t know you, either, lady, but what the fuck is your problem?

Now I was getting a smidge offended. It’s not like I’m on a watch list of any kind!

“I don’t allow Evelyn to go to anyone’s home that I don’t know. Terrifying things happen in other people’s homes.”

Now I was intrigued. “Like what?” I asked.

“Well, for instance, fires. Do you have a fire plan? I doubt it. Most homeowners don’t. Do you run fire drills with your children? Do you have fire extinguishers on every floor?”

“Umm … we have smoke detectors,” I said.

“Smoke detectors don’t put out fires,” she replied. “What if the
girls were upstairs and a fire started and you couldn’t get to them?”

“Were you in a fire?” I asked, thinking maybe that was why she was so crazy.

“Of course not.
We
have a fire plan.”

I was ready to tell this lady that a “fire plan” doesn’t actually prevent fires any more than my smoke detectors do, but the look on Adolpha’s face made me keep going. She just wanted Evelyn to come over and play with her dolls!

“Look, it’s not a big deal. I’ve never lived in a house that has caught fire, we don’t keep weapons in our house, I can follow any kind of dietary restrictions you might have, and we can put Barbie away if you think she’s not a positive body image role model for girls. My son, Gomer, is having a friend over on Friday, and Adolpha wants to have Evelyn come, too. She would like a friend, and she would like Evelyn to be that friend.”