Last night, Cole and I were watching tv and he pointed to a Hispanic man and said, “What’s that black boy doing?” I was taken aback and responded, “Who told you he is black?”
“I don’t know”
“Well, what color are you?”
“White.” (Okay, he’s right there.)
“What color is Daddy?”
“Hmm, I don’t know.”
“What color is Mommy?”
“Brown.” (I would have to get a lot tanner for that.)
“What color is Chloe?”
“Pink.” (Aww, so cute.)
So I’m thinking about the perception of a 3 year old and how this funny conversation will make a good status update today. Then this morning, I started to tell Kevin the story, and Cole chimed in.
Tell Daddy what color you are. White. And what color is Daddy. White again.
What color is Mommy? He looks at me and says blue. Hmm, that’s different. And what color is Chloe?
Pink, no, purple.
I looked down at myself wearing a blue robe and Chloe in her purple pajamas. Then I realized that Kevin was wearing a white shirt and so was Cole. And then I remembered that the man on tv last night had on a black shirt and black pants. So it hits me that my sweet boy wasn’t looking at the color of anyone’s skin but rather at their clothes. What a way to view the world.
