We were living in Bangkok, Thailand. I was 6 or 7 years old and spent much of my time outdoors there, running around the American compound throwing water balloons, jumping in the pool, and chasing lizards. (Actually, I mainly watched my older brother chase the lizards.) My hair was so sun-bleached it was almost white--and with its humidity-poofed curls, I'm sure I almost glowed.
That's how I drew the crowd on that hot, hot day during a family trip up country to Chiang Mai. We had stopped for lunch, I think. I remember a few children sidling up next to me. They stared at me in fascination and then began to gently touch my hair. I wasn't sure how I felt about that, but within seconds I was surrounded--by children and adults alike. They all wore fascinated smiles and chattered in a language I could not understand, but all I felt was different, and I burst into tears.
My mom rescued me from the group and explained to me that they had likely never seen someone with such light hair and skin before. I remember that moment, because I looked up and realized that every single one of them had very tan skin and dark, straight hair. We'd been living in Thailand for at least a year at that point--and I had never noticed that before.
The other day my third grader came home from school and said a kid in class told him:
"I think it's weird that you're black and your mom is white."
When I think about the moment my son heard those words directed at him, I remember that moment of panic in Thailand, when I was just a little younger than he is. A moment where I felt so vastly different and so traumatically singled out that I just wanted to hide.
Some days when I think about the many issues my children may face regarding not just their race but our family's racial diversity...well, I start looking for a paper bag.
Thankfully, those prayer verses keep resonating in my heart.
Pray continually.
I will, and especially for my children's hearts.
That's how I drew the crowd on that hot, hot day during a family trip up country to Chiang Mai. We had stopped for lunch, I think. I remember a few children sidling up next to me. They stared at me in fascination and then began to gently touch my hair. I wasn't sure how I felt about that, but within seconds I was surrounded--by children and adults alike. They all wore fascinated smiles and chattered in a language I could not understand, but all I felt was different, and I burst into tears.
My mom rescued me from the group and explained to me that they had likely never seen someone with such light hair and skin before. I remember that moment, because I looked up and realized that every single one of them had very tan skin and dark, straight hair. We'd been living in Thailand for at least a year at that point--and I had never noticed that before.
The other day my third grader came home from school and said a kid in class told him:
"I think it's weird that you're black and your mom is white."
When I think about the moment my son heard those words directed at him, I remember that moment of panic in Thailand, when I was just a little younger than he is. A moment where I felt so vastly different and so traumatically singled out that I just wanted to hide.
Some days when I think about the many issues my children may face regarding not just their race but our family's racial diversity...well, I start looking for a paper bag.
Thankfully, those prayer verses keep resonating in my heart.
Pray continually.
I will, and especially for my children's hearts.
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