This will probably sound really strange to many people but when Z, at four years old, came home from preschool asking about Martin Luther King, it was very important to me to explain Dr. King’s accomplishments outside the context of race. Z’s favorite preschool teacher, Ms. Karen, is a wonderful, loving, black woman – at times another Momma for Z – and he had (and has) no sense that there’s anything about her that’s the slightest bit different than him. To me that’s an innocence worth preserving for as long as possible. The only time he ever asked about skin color I held my (olive skinned) arm out and said “Hey, look, I’m a little darker than you.” and he said “Yeah, and Momma’s lighter than me.” and that was that. People come in all shades, ’nuff said.
So I explained to him that MLK was a great, brave man who had been a champion of equality. He had stood up and said that no matter who someone was, no matter what they looked like or how much money they had or where they came from, they deserved the same rights and respect as everyone else. Z, who already has an acute sense of fairness, latched on to this and has been an MLK fan ever since. A month or so later, after a crushing loss in little-kid soccer, Z came stomping off the field angry and red faced. The other team had more players, he insisted, “And Martin Luther King said it has to be fair!” He was ready to march on from Selma to Montgomery because this was bullshit! In a rare moment of fatherly excellence, I comforted him without laughing.
For better or worse, at this point in his life Z has little or no concept of black and white – there’s no such thing as a ‘minority’ to him just as there’s no such thing as an ‘alternative lifestyle’. There are nice people, there are loving couples, that’s it. Obviously, he’s going to know about all of things at some point, but the longer he goes in life without thinking twice about Sophie having two Mommies, the more repulsed he’ll be by people who try to tell him there’s something wrong with it. And that’s exactly what I want.
Dr. King’s name came up again just this week. Z checks a book out from school each day, brings it home and we all read it together at bed time. It’s a great system that encourages reading and parental involvement and Z really enjoys it.
I got home late Thursday night from a week of shooting in NYC and when I got Z out of bed Friday morning he told me how excited he was to read his new New York City book together. Z loves New York – not only is it the place Daddy flies off to for work, he’s visited a few times and always gets to stay up too late, eat too much pizza and do cool stuff.
ME: A New York book? Sounds great.
Z: Yeah, it’s all about the buildings that burned and fell down.
Me: Uh…can I see your New York book for a second?
Turns out, Z had come home with a War of Terror / September 11 photographic retrospective. Now, I don’t think of myself as a prude or prone to overreacting but this seemed incredibly inappropriate for a kindergartener. Flipping through the book I found photos of everything from the WTC on fire to AK-47 wielding Taliban to a guy, in a pool of blood, shot dead in an airport. Checking it out to a six year old was an accident , it was a book that looked harmless enough on the cover that the librarian let out because she (I assume) had no idea what was inside.
He was disappointed that I wouldn’t read him the book or let him page through it but we decided to go to the Burbank library together and there we got a proper New York in photographs book – one of those Life Magazine coffee table books that is so fun to go through. When we came across a shot of lower Manhattan from the mid-1990s, I explained that those two big buildings were the ones that got knocked down. The brief conversation that ensued will stay with me as long as I live.
Z: Who knocked those buildings down?
Me: Someone who was mad, who didn’t like America very much and did a bad thing.
After a moments thought, a little light bulb went off for Z, as if he’d just made a meaningful connection between facts..
Z: Was it the same person who shot Martin Luther King?
Me: No, buddy, it wasn’t the same person.
Z: But they’re on the same team, right?
The thought was so simple and perfect that I just stared at him for a long moment. In lieu of the kind of wordy explanation I am prone to giving, I followed Z’s lead and went with the simplest and most immediate answer that came to mind.
Me: Yeah, they pretty much are.