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...