The world we live in

Can I call my mom when we get to your place?  asks Nicholas' friend on the way to our house for an after school play-date.  He looks sad.  Sure, I say.  Is something wrong?  What's going on? 

I need to talk to my mom.  Some kids were telling me today that my family is all weak and dumb.  Because we're black.

He then proceeds to tell me about how this kind of thing has been going on since Kindergarten...

Clearly I must be naive otherwise this would not have shocked me so much.   Now, I'm not so Pollyanna as to think that the world has miraculously become a just and fair place.  I am, however, disturbed and distraught to hear that this sweet little almost-8-year-old boy has already experienced more than his fair share of injustice and hurt because of something so arbitrary as skin colour.  I mean, c'mon! Aren't we all passed this yet?

Clearly not.

When I connect with his mom when we drop him off, she tells me through tears that she is trying to teach her boys to cope with the inevitable pain they will experience in life as a result of being of African descent.  That this is just their reality and she will not allow her kids to grow up to be victims.  That they will need to grow a thick skin, to find and develop the tools within themselves not to bend and break under the pressure of ignorance and mean-spiritedness. 

Today, I am reminded that my boys will never know this particular brand of ignorance and mean-spiritedness.  They will never need to learn how to shake off the kind of hurtful comments that Nicholas' friend regularly receives.  I will never need teach them ways to cope with this kind of pain.

My friend T does.

I think one of the hardest things about parenting is learning over and over again, through the eyes and hearts of our kids, that sometimes the world we live in just sucks.