Well, as a sociologist (a sociologist whose training and expertise is in the areas of: 1] race-class in the contemporary U.S., and 2] sociology of children and childhood) it is very hard for me to not be totally fascinated by some of the dynamics in my very own little family. I am committed to never writing a book about it. I am absolutely determined to never sociologically or professionally exploit my children. And I have promised myself to try my darndest to not let my sometimes-too-complex-thinking get in the way of the simple gut-level-basics of my parenting. However… at times it is almost impossible for me to not deeply ponder some of the stuff that is going on in my only tiny little universe because, really, it is all so totally sociologically fascinating. You’d have to have zero sociological imagination to not be at least a little bit intrigued. And my sociological imagination is definitely not in the zero category (actually, it is probably located quite firmly in the “overactive imagination” category). Long before K & O were ever on the scene I had read more than most human beings ever will about children and racial identity formation. Since Day One with K & O in our lives I have been really curious about(amongst many, many other things) when — exactly — they’ll start verbalizing their recognition of our family as an inter-racial unit. My assumption is that they’ve noticed for quite a long time now (if not since the start), but specifically, I’ve wondered when they’ll note — out loud — their awareness of our racial difference. When will they actually verbalize their recognition that we are an inter-racial family? Today, we were driving in the car. We were driving on the same road that we used to take to go to/from the boys’ daycare. We were talking about how “it is summer!” and that means “no daycare!!!” Then, suddenly, out of the blue, the following happened… (background note: there were two “Miss Jen’s” who worked at the daycare)…
Owen: “Mommy, do you remember the other Miss Jen at daycare? Do you remember?”
Heather: “Yes.”
O: “The other Miss Jen was black like me and my brother.”
H: “Yes Owen! She was!”
O: “Mommy, you are not black like me. You are not. You are different color skin. Your color is different than mine’s.”
H: “That’s right Owen!”
And we left it at that.