When I was very young – somewhere between three and five – I heard my parents talking one evening when they thought I was asleep. They were discussing the two baby dolls I had which were alike in most ways, except that one was a white baby and the other one was black. They had noticed that I played with the white doll more than the other one.
I understood that this troubled them, but I didn’t understand why. As far as I can remember, that was the last I heard of it, and it was years later that I was able to understand their concern.
If they had asked me why I preferred the white doll, I would have explained that the body of the black baby doll was made of some hard material, possibly hard plastic, whereas the white baby had a cloth body stuffed with something soft, and a head of soft plastic, and was infinitely nicer to cuddle.
I give my parents credit for keeping an eye out for signs of incipient racism, but they needn’t have worried. I grew up to be an equal opportunity cuddler.
No comments:
Post a Comment