In My Head Part III

I have become my own social experiment. Welcome to Part III of The In My Head Series.

Yesterday, I met my friend, the nanny, we'll call her Sonia, and her little girl whom we'll call Sophie, at Pelham Public Library. They've been going their for a couple of years. I've just started venturing out beyond my zip code. As you will recall from previous posts, my experiences as a black mother, trying to find diverse, cultural and social activities for my twins to participate in has become a challenge-not only because of the race/class thing but because I'm shy and a tad insecure.

First of all-prior to having a car, the only place I could take the kids was the little library down the block from my house, which sadly pales in comparison when it comes to wealthier libraries in the 'burbs. Don't get me wrong.  I love it. Still do. It provided  an outlet for me and for them when the twins were babies. I will never forget  heaving the boys up and down the hilly streets of my neighborhood in their double stroller, which as I look back on was good for me. It helped me get rid of a lot of baby fat rather quickly. It's also where I met Sonia and Sophie. The only white people at the library. I remember the first time Sophie came to story hour. She cried and cried. She was so shy. Now...she's the most sociable little girl you ever want to meet. I was expecting the same kind of transformation for the boys..and  for myself as well. I wanted to break out of  my shell and open up a bit-meet new people, have experiences. I admired Sonia for taking Sophie to libraries all across the city where she would meet people of all races and ethnic backgrounds, but I think it's easier for white people.

As I travel to places outside my zip code, I have to work to remind myself especially for the boys sake that I'm not inferior.  I have every right to take advantage of free programs and opportunities as much as every other parent, and nanny in the library. who are taking advantage of free opportunities to enhance and improve their kids life and educational experiences-just like I am. We all want the same things.

As I've said, the boys are too young to pick up on the things I notice. The things I try to ignore like the fact that my kids are the only black kids in the library despite the fact that most of the women there, including me- are black.
"Awwww, Cute..."  said the pretty lady with that frozen smile I've grown accustomed to. It didn't even come off as a compliment, she barely looked at the kids. At least she acknowledged  us,  unlike the guy cutting the grass, who ignored my son's jumping up and down excitedly, pointing and smiling at this strange machine he'd never seen before. If I hadn't called my son over, he would have run Noah over. He completely ignored us.  I tried to smile at him, but he refused to make eye-contact.

 Oh well...

So here we are, in  this massive library, which looks like a museum, or an old mansion. I think I read somewhere it used to be a bank. It was an imposing place to be. For me anyway.  The kids were in awe too,  and they started running around and loudly expressing how impressed they were.  I felt this was neither the time nor place for us to be conspicuous, so I ran to the librarian at the front desk, who was shooting the breeze, taking her sweet time to check out a patron while she saw me standing and waiting.

"Excuse me, where is children's story hour held?" She smiled. That is always reassuring.

"In the basement." Of course.  I hate being conspicuous.

How do I get there? I have to go outside and then downstairs.

So we went outside. There they were:  sistergirls, mothers, aunties- the nannies, exercising, cuddling, and cooing over their little ones. I must admit most of them were pretty friendly-even the one I met at the Pelham library yesterday who scolded me about the kids hair, and just about everything else the kids did,  turned out to be pretty sympathetic when, as usual, I started to apologize for my failings as a parent.

"Take dem out. Tek dem to di park. Le' dem meet other chil'ren. Dem will talk, dem will play. You nuh need daycare. All dat is money wasted. I suppose that's true. I wish I had started this process a year earlier, but as you know-we didn't have a vehicle. Without it, I would never have been able to meet these people. Not to mention the fact that it's hard enough to take the kids out alone even with a car. Anyway, I digress...I was pleased that the nannies were so friendly.

So now we're in the basement again, It was intimidating.  It was a theater. At first the boys seemed thrilled to be in such an interesting and different space.  Zach ran towards the carpet in the middle of the floor and started running his car.

I tried to put Noah down, but again, he would have no part of it.. I considered sitting in the auditorium seats, because, well-even I was a bit intimidated by the set up, but I realized that if I'm going to teach the boys fearlessness, I have to lead by example so I walked to the center of the room and sat with them on the carpet. Noah was fine for a while. Until hordes of kids started piling into the auditorium.

I thought the woman in front of the theater, throwing books onto the floor might be the story teller, but I could be sure. I thought the little girl by her side might belong to her too, but  there were so many other nannies and kids just hanging around you can never tell who belongs to whom. Finally, story time was about to start.  Noah started to act up, Zach was roaming around.  At least he wasn't crying.

The story teller began with a good morning and a few requests: \

"Parents or care-givers, when I start to tell the stories, if your kid wanders around, or starts crying can you please remove them..." O.k. I always take my kids out when they act up but her saying it irked me for some reason.

She continues:
 " I have my own child here, and it's hard enough for me to take care of her and have to deal with all your kids too."  She said some other things, but that's what struck me. She wasn't outright rude, but there was a hit of condescension and holier than thou parenting in her voice. It just made me uneasy and I assumed her comments were directed at me because my kids were among the first kids there and Zach was wandering around and Noah was whimpering.

She then went on to inform us that she "volunteered" at the library-as if to set herself apart in some way, letting us know that she didn't do this because she "had to," but because she wanted to. It just seemed cold to me.

And then to announce that your child is there-among all these other kids-who couldn't care less, was pretentious and unnecessary,  She wasn't unfriendly, but she wasn't warm. She was like a cute little puppy that will let you pet it but it bites. I don't know. That's the image that came to mind.

Anyway...story hour progressed and I kept the kids with me in the auditorium seats because I didn't want to be embarrassed if she stopped story time and asked me to remove the kids-she seemed the type to do it,  I felt bad about keeping them away from the other kids because the purpose of having them there is to socialize. Sonia helped me drag Zach and Noah to the dinosaur march, which Zach enjoyed and I might have, had Noah not been clinging to my neck.  During the march I recognized a nanny from another library I take the boys  to and  we got to talking. She takes care of twins also.  A boy and a girl, two years old-like my boys  I've never seen these two act up. They gleefully participated in the dinosaur march, willfully danced, and didn't create-like my two. They caused quite a racket: squealing, stretching their little arms out for me to pick them up.  I've never seen her twins act up like these guys always do.

I pleaded for her to tell me the secret, and she very sweetly told me that it takes time, I smiled. "Sure."  C'mon, The boys and I've  been at this for two years now. Noah still won't leave my lap.  Granted I only had access to one library for the better part of a year so they've only started to interact with other people  but still...I'm getting ready to put the kids in daycare and I worry nobody will want to take them if they continue to behave this way.

Story time has come to an end. We all get ready to leave and I'm behind my new nanny friend. There's a large crowd waiting to exit. Of course we take our time and exchange pleasantries with all the parents and caregivers while getting our little ones to walk up the stairs and exit the building. Of course, Noah who was fine walking a second ago starts to create. I mean, the kid is screaming, thrashing  himself about, stretching his arms out, begging to be picked up and I, easily embarrassed, give in.

Obvious reason number 1) Crowd too large for me to leave him there and ignore him. I hate to be embarrassed.

Obvious reason number 2) I just want to get the hell outside. Did I mention I'm embarrassed?

Perhaps not so obvious reason number 3) Most of the nannies there are Caribbean. Like my mother, my grandmother, and auntie and other elders who surely expect me to be a better disciplinarian.  I caught a couple of curt glances already- I can hear them admonishing me in my grandmother's gravelly patois,"mi pickney could neva carry on like dat..."

Well, I picked him up. I'm his mother. I can do what I want with my child. Look down on me if you want to. Go ahead and judge me. I think. I'm judging you too...at least my kids are here damn it!

In my head, I taunt them but what good does that do?

As soon as I have Noah in my arms. He let's out a little chuckle;  the boy is smiling.

"It's not funny!" I fume. I'm  exhausted, frustrated and humiliated.

My new nanny friend turns to me, her dark curls bouncing up and down as she helps her twins take wobbly steps up the stairs.

"It's funny for him, He won."

In My Head Part II (At the Library)

Today, I took the boys to the children's library in Mount Vernon. My friend-the nanny I was with in New Rochelle, recommended it. I figured I'd give it a try because I'm trying to expand my and the kids' horizons. I am trying to get out of my comfort zone and network; meet new moms and in the process maybe I'll  make a friend or two.

 I've always been shy. Especially in predominately black settings. I've been that way for as long as I can remember, probably because I'm used to being the minority.  When I was a little girl in Toronto, Canada, I was always the new, and one of few black girl's in whatever group I sought to belong.  My babysitter was a white woman, and the kids in our daycare were all white-save my sister and Roger, who was half Japanese. My sister and I were the only black children she ever cared for. I remember when we would go on group outings, people would always stop and ask (with frozen smiles ) if we, pointing to my sister and I were "hers." She would always say yes and keep it moving. I loved her as much as I loved my own mother.  She loved me as much as she loved her own children. I remember we went to Center Island on a trip once and I got lost. When we reunited, she was in tears, I was in tears but the way she held onto me, the way I held onto her-it was just love. Pure and simple. I never thought of myself as anything less than a loved family member. Neither she, or her own blood family treated my sister or I otherwise.

However, reality is one relentless son of a bitch. Racism was a cold, hard reality, no matter how I tried to ignore it.  I learned about racism mostly at the playground with taunts and stuff,but that didn't bother me.  What worried me was that, Mrs. Woodward, might start loving me when she realized I was just what those kids called me on the playground-a darkie, a brownie...something not worthy to be loved or appreciated.

One day my father was driving my sister and I to Mrs. Woodward's and on the way, he pointed to a house, about half a block a way from hers, where a black-faced * lawn jockey stood, proudly bearing his lampshade, in their front yard. I had thought nothing of it, walking past this house daily. I was actually kind of happy to see another black face around. But when my father saw it, he was enraged.   Racists, he said, his knuckles nearly bursting through the skin he'd been gripping the steering wheel so tight. He said nothing more, simply shaking his head slowly back and forth the entire drive towards towards my babysitters. I will never forget that day,  Or that house.

Then, one day  my babysitter announced  she was planning to get one of those things that made my father so angry.  I burst into tears. In fact, I was inconsolable.  I told her what my father told me. She wrapped her plump arms around me and held onto me tight. She promised me she would never get one and  she never did. She also didn't know they were racist, many people don't. They simply think they are cute ornaments.

I grew up in Canada where racism is not as blatant as it is here. Segregation doesn't exist the way it does here in America. We don't have ghettos in Canada the way we have ghettos here in New York City. Our racial culture is different. Not that there isn't racism, I was in school with whites who made politically incorrect comments all the time (mostly out of ignorance) about any body who wasn't white but we all sat in the same classrooms, rode the same buses and for the most part lived in the same neighborhoods and still played together in the same playgrounds.

 In Toronto, I had a lot of white friends and my experiences were different then a black person who has grown up around black people who've been made to feel inferior their entire life-not only by cruel kids in a park, but by an entire system, which blatantly sets out to enforce racial inferiority. It wasn't that I didn't know racial prejudice existed, it's just that I had the luxury of not having to deal-for example, my friends were wearing Tre-torns and listened to Depeche Mode, as did I.   I considered it odd that when I came to New York City one summer, hoping to find cheaper Tre-torn sneakers then were sold in Toronto, in stores that only sold Timberland, Travel Fox and Adidas, and was looked at like I'd committed raciaal treason because I wasn't interested in Reeboks, Adidas, or Travel Fox. None of the sales persons had even heard of Tretorn. (???)

Anyway, the point I'm making is that I've always felt a bit shunned by black people. Of course when I went to college and became "self-aware" Black Power was in vogue (even among white people) and hip hop was emerging as a force to be reckoned with,  I reclaimed my "blackness." It felt good to be recognized. Even though, I still didn't quite get it. "Blackness."

It wasn't only until I began living in New York, and traveling around these great United States that I recognized how "black" I was, and yet,  am not.

So here we are my head while I'm at the library among my own people. Unlike the park, it's all black people here, at least it will be until my friend and her little girl show up. There  aren't any welcoming smiles for me. Not even the frozen ones that I've grown so accustomed to. I'd take one right now over the looks I'm getting.  I feel so out of place.

When I arrive, story time was already in full swing, Damn. I hate showing up late, but my friend told me that it started at 10:15 and it's 10: 05.  Clearly, they stared early. The kids are having a great time. They all seem to know each each other and since they seem to be  a couple of years older than Zach and Noah, I'm a bit worried they might shun my boys if they try to join in. O.k., O.k.  I admit, that's more my hang up then theirs. They couldn't care less if they are ignored. They will just find something else to do.

 I tried  to take a seat inconspicuously,  but since the chairs are set up smack dab  in the middle of the brightly lit room,  it's  awkward trying to squeeze past some ladies ( I assume they are parents or caregivers) with Zach screaming,  clinging to my neck and Noah whimpering for me to pick him up. Finally, I'm  able to plunk Zach down into an  empty chair to my left. I'm  getting ready to seat Noah to my right, but he ain't having  it. He  climbs onto my lap and buries his head into my chest. I wish I could do that. Where is my friend?

Not even two seconds pass before I'm settled when  there is a sharp tap on my shoulder. I turn, expecting to find a friendly face making a friendly request, but instead, all I can see is an uptight scowl, cleavage and fluorescent pink. "Somebody's sitting there,.."

 "Sorry." I say scooping Zach up and  moving (with Noah's face still buried in my bosom) down a couple of seats.

"Mom?"  The music has stopped, the kids are seated, chatting excitedly, anticipating the next book to be read.  The boys and I are watching and waiting for the librarian to being the story too, but this does not happen. (Of course.)

"Are you mom?"

"Yes." I say trying to appear cool and nonchalant, but feeling rigid and tense. Why do black people have to be so conspicuous?  I wonder as I feel my body heat up  from the intensity of eyes burning holes into me from every direction. I wish I was oblivious as a two-year old but I'm not. I'm a forty year old woman who can't believe the audacity of this ghetto chick and the librarian out to embarrass me.  This shit wouldn't happen in New Rochelle.

Nobody would have asked me to move in New Rochelle.  They would have politely let me sit where I wanted, even if the seat was "taken." They might glare daggers into my back, but I bet they would have directed their child towards another seat among the many that were there. Then again, maybe they wouldn't have, One thing I do  know is that if this did happen in New Rochelle, it would have been done with a lot more class isn't that why we don't have to pay for parking over there? Why there are no metal detectors?

I'm still furious over the "tapping." I'm thinking, as their "teacher",  the chick that tapped me should be an example of friendliness and welcoming, rather than the picture of alienation and divisiveness. Her actions are the reason why we all "just can't get along."

"You gotta get the kids out of your lap," The librarian's saying to me in a tone I found offensive and condescending. He's part of the problem too.

"It's their first time here," I announce defensively while trying to accommodate the twins in my lap. . If things continued like this it would be their last.

It's their first time too!" He proclaims, waving his arm around the room to indicate the kids seated in front of me, and the teachers behind me, One of whom I'd already had the misfortune of meeting.

"They just need to get warmed up," I assured him. Why didn't  he just get on with the program and leave us alone?  And where the hell was my friend? My white friend. I needed her now. I felt like having a white friend might make them take me more seriously, like the black grandfather with his bi-racial daughter at the park.

He paused a moment, looked at me like I was speaking Chinese but thankfully, he decided it was time for him  to read.

Finally. A reprieve. Pete the Cat's cool shoes were definitely more interesting to the kids and they turned to follow him.

I must admit even though his-in-your-face manner irked me, he was pretty good. He was engaging and interactive. The kids responded to him.  I liked that he got them involved.  He was a great storyteller. I wanted to bring the kids back, but the whole tapping thing left a sour taste in my mouth and the incident didn't make me feel much like interacting with anyone, which  was unfortunate because interacting  and making friends was the reason I brought the kids here in the first place.

As I sit, fidgeting, waiting for my friend, there is more music, there is more dancing.  Zach joins them without prompting. While I'm proud of his inhibition, I find myself worrying that the other kids might not want him there.   Flashbacks of  recess in elementary school flood my brain.  Noah's growing  roots in my lap.  

It's now time for another story, but Zach won't sit still. He begins to walk around the library, back and forth as the librarian is reading the story, and trying to hold the attention of the kids who by now are more interested in Zach's exploits. Most of the kids find him more amusing then The Three Little Pigs and their teacher sternly warns them to turn around and pay attention. I take it as a dig at me.  My kid is the source of the distraction. I am "one of those" mothers. I'm not disciplining him right.

Finally my friend and her little girl arrive. I have never been so happy to see anyone in my life. Curious eyebrows rise. Most curious of them all, the woman that tapped me. I am redeemed.

She's now prancing around the library like a bright pink peacock, her boobs practically jumping out of her shirt. She's taking pictures and flexing her  "educator" muscle;  using poor grammar and broken English the entire time. She makes me furious on so many levels but I'd be here for years explaining all of them.

I sit watching the kids, contemplating  whether or not I should come back. I feel a bit slighted, like my own people had treated me wrong. At least in New Rochelle, white people smiled at us and although it pains me to say it-it was encouraging. Smiles have that affect. Genuine or not.
 Here, it was as if people were trying o discourage us.They didn't make eye contact, they didn't try to connect. Even though we shared the same skin tone, I felt so different from them. I felt like they didn't want to see me.  I felt like an outsider. Even though I should have belonged.

I tell my friend about the teacher asking me to move. I wanted her opinion on the "vibe" here.  She laughs.  She knows what I'm getting at.  "Those daycare people, they think they own the place." I have to laugh too. This is my problem. I take things too personally.  
"I'm the only white girl here," She tells me.  I've been coming here for two years, People are who they are.  The important thing here is the kids and what they learn. They learn from watching you. How you treat people. How you react to situations. They will become what you show them."  I know she's right. The world isn't going to change to accommodate my wishful thinking. I can't keep running away whenever  reality might reveal its sometimes ugly side.  This is the lesson I want to teach my kids.

 So, we'll come back...

And we did, the following week.  It was a different crowd, but the same vibe among the elders.  I got dirty looks from some teachers. Sigh...I assume they didn't like the fact that I allowed Zachary to wander during story hour, and even though I begged him to come and join his brother and I, he was happier running his toy like a train across his makeshift railroad of brightly colored stools(that you sit on--NOT bowel movements). Noah refused to leave my side but I dealt with it. Despite all the eyes on me,  I took my friend's advice; I stopped focusing on them and focused on my kids. When it came time to dance. I did. Noah didn't want to but Zachary eventually joined, albeit briefly until some other kids started running around the back of the room and he chased after them. He made some friends.
The kids will be alright.

So will I.

Today, when it came time to leave, my friend's little girl lost her princess. My friend asked the librarians to help us find it, and the librarians asked the kids and their caregivers to stay put until we helped her find the toy. The caregivers returned our smiles of gratitude with looks of scorn. They didn't help us look. They seemed to take offense to us even asking. Well, it was my brave white friend who asked. I would never have been so bold. These people intimidate me. The expressions on their faces said "she shouldn't have brought the toy in the first place." I wondered if they were pissed because she was white, and assumed that one of the "black" kids stole her toy.

All of  these issues and  experiences run through my head as I grapple with this new role I've assumed; as I try to figure out the best way to socialize and educate my kids. My own thoughts about race and class,  my personal experiences as a black woman and now mother/role  model play a large role in my thinking and my behavior.  What I know is that as a black woman raising two black boys in a racialized setting, I'm more defensive/cautious about their interactions. I wear my heart on my sleeve and when it comes to my kids  I'm protective-overprotective. I sense that they are well-intentioned and like me, they just want to impart love and all the good feelings to their friends-the way I did when I was growing up. I had an ideal childhood in Canada. Though, racism was there it wasn't prevalent the way  it is here, and if they can have the kind of childhood I had, until they are confronted with the ugly truth, I'll be happy. All of us has a rude awakening at some time in our lives.

All  I want right now is for them to be in environments that are nurturing, encouraging, stimulating and loving. I want them to be nurturing, encouraging and loving towards other people-regardless of race, class, creed or religion. The concern grows greater as I prepare to go back to work and I must entrust their care and socialization to others.

I don't want them in a monolithic environment, like what I've witnessed at the library. I didn't grow up that way and I'd like to think I'm enlightened because of it-on the other hand, I worry about them being the only black boys among a majority of frozen smiles...when they become men, the world will become a different place for them. They must learn how to live in it.

So, that being said, when I'm feeling intimidated about someplace I haven't been, or worried about how I might be received, I think bout my friend and the other three white people who were the minority at the library today. I'm grateful for them because they showed me that everyone experiences a frozen smile at some point in their life. I learned  that I should never be intimidated or debilitated by them, What is most important is that I am  NEVER going to be the one to give one.

*If you're curious about lawn jockeys...