Growing
up, I thought the world’s population fell into 3 categories:
1.
Irish or Polish Catholic
2.
Italian Catholic
3.
Other
In
my little Chicago suburb, we have 3 Catholic churches within a 2 mile triangle
radius of each other. You were defined by the church you attended. The Polish
church said one of three masses a day in Polish. The Irish church’s Father had
a thick brogue. Our family bucked tradition, and attended the church with
German roots, but was taken over by a mix of the remaining who had quarreled
with the other two parishes. Plus, it was an easier walk from our house than
the Irish church.
When
I was in my early tweens, my Aunt married into an Italian family, and my experience
with cultures that didn’t stew cabbage on a regular basis was expanded. I think
I loved my new Uncle from the first moment I met him, pronounced by the fact
that he is Clare’s Godfather. Still, some in the family whispered about his
parent’s off-the-boat Southern Italian bloodline. He’s not white. What on earth were they talking about?
When
I went to college, it was the first time I was put in a situation where not
everyone I knew fit into categories 1 and 2. My first assigned roommate was Shaniqua
from East Saint Louis. Seriously. While I made jokes about we might be confused
with each other since our names were so similar, I was terrified to know that
the person I would be sharing a small room with for the next year was coming
from such a hard area. She never showed up though. Instead, the day before
school started I was assigned a new roommate, Emily, who was a transplant from
a blessedly soft suburb much like my own. While we were not best friends by any
stretch, we were definitely solid enough that she explained what a perm was. If
it wasn’t for her, and later Chris Rock, I would be clueless.
When I started taking my Political Science courses, I became friends with a black guy who was a
constant in many of my classes. We would study together relatively often, I
presume because we were in the small faction that wasn’t already set on the
notion of law school. One day, as we sat in an open quad after class going over
notes, a group of black girls past us. I was mostly oblivious, but he groaned.
Moments later he told me that he couldn’t study with me in the open any more,
that the fact we had just been spotted together was going to earn him a lot of
grief with his friends. I can’t be seen
with a white girl, it ruins my chances with anyone else. What on earth was
he talking about? He later apologized, but we never hung out again after that
day.
Today,
I think I have finally found a place where I can surround myself with like
minded people, regardless of race, and more importantly, have been able to
incorporate Grace and Clare into environments where they see more that Irish
and Polish faces. From the time they were born, they have been cuddled, cared
for and honestly loved from faces spanning the world. Mexico, Cameroon,
Somalia, Egypt, South Africa, India, Iran, China and Japan on skin. Catholic,
Methodist, Protestant, Jewish and Muslim in hearts. I love the fact that culture, outside
of our new slice of suburbia, is a constant in their school and lives.
We
talk about race occasionally. Most of the time it is about tradition and
celebrations, but occasionally, skin color comes up. When playing doll dress up
games on my iPhone, Grace often picks black skin colors. She asks if she had
dark skin, if she would still have freckles, because dark skin colors are so much more fancy in their pigments; but, then decides that she likes
her white skin because she doesn’t want to take the chance of NOT having those
freckles anymore.
I
know that these experiences won’t stop someone from not wanting to be their
friends because of skin color, but I do hope that it isn’t even a factor for
friendship for them.
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Alexandre Dumas' works were heavily influenced by his father, also named
Alexandre Dumas. In the biography The Black Count, author Tom Reiss tells how
Dumas went from slavery to become the equivalent of a five star general in the
French military. Join From Left to Write on October 11 as we discuss the The Black Count. As a member, I
received a copy of the book for review purposes
At the Grace's visit to the dentist for her cleaning, her 5 year old status granted a new experience: x-rays. When the images were transferred to the computer screen, I was immediately called over to have a look. 
Grace cooks with me often. I let her stand next to me by the stove and stir bubbling pots. I have never given her a knife though. I guess they knew something that I couldn't see.
This change will be hardest on me. Watching my child prove first hand that my baby is no longer a baby. She will thrive in this environment. Without me. Without my vertical 100 yard proximity.