My hate, my shame...

The little boy I wrote about in my first blog - the one who was instrumental in my young ones discovery of race - gave my another surprise today.

I have been dealing with the problem. Perhaps, you'll disagree with the way I've done it - perhaps you will agree. But at least I'm not guilty of causing the boy our his family grevious bodily harm.

I've been ignoring the boy and his family, waiting for a report from the creche - that I suppose won't come. I have been giving the boy the death stare and putting my child in other play groups in the mornings, so that at least in my mind he will not have as much access to her. And off course, I've been interrogating her in the evenings - not really interrogating, but you know what I mean.

The other day, the grandfather picked the laaitie up - he greeted as friendly as he could - and I ignored him flat. "You bloody racist, I kept thinking," trying to keep my cool.

As I said before, children, I believe, do not think in colour. The think in terms of attitudes towards them. If they have fun with someone, they will play with them and not because someone is not the same shade as them.

I have been ashamed, I must admit, on the way I've treated the boy. It's really not his fault. But I'm not Nelson Mandela, who forgives so easily. Would be great country and world if we all could.

But this morning, my shame grew even more than I could imagine. As I was bending to drop my child's bag - I felt a pair of arms around my legs. I smiled as I looked down - thinking I'll see my little princess' smiling face looking up at me.

Instead it was the little boy - giving my a huge hug... laughing as only a healthy, playful little child can.

The quiet and the weird...

She sits in an office on the top floor of the 4 storey building where I spent 8 hours of my day on week days and some weekends.

She’s not mad – at least I hope not. She works with finances, but on the other hand, she just might be a bit wacko. She’s supposed to handle the company’s finances –and there no money.

She’s married, has children and is a nice enough person, as far as I can tell.

She an introvert – rarely speaks unless addressed directly. And then she tries to get away with nodding, a smile…

I recently sat next to her during a company function. I tried and tried to get her to say something – it was only when asked about her family that she started talking – not much, mind you – but enough to find out she’s a compassionate, bright person.

She could do with some fashion advice, even a bit of a makeover. Don’t get me wrong, she’s neat – just not someone who stands out in a crowd.

She parks close to me. The other morning we entered the parking lot together. She got out of her car and waved. I acknowledge, before turning my eyes to close the boot. When I turned again she was gone.

It was a spilt second, and for a second there, I thought the cigarette in my mouth has something stronger than just tobacco in it.

Three days later – the same – just we were on our ways to our cars this time and I did not have any cigarette lit at that time.

Finally yesterday, I saw her crouching behind a bush – what appeared to be talking to herself. Wacko, I thought, and tried to put some distance between us.

Then a little meow drifted across the wind to my ears. And I heard her conversation witbh a bunch of cat. Not mad – just friendly and a bit lonely. 

My three year-old child - the result of a mixed marriage - told us the other day that a friend at crèche told her she was coloured - and he white.

It was a shock to the system - a blow to the mind.

We are not naive - we have always known that people will stare, that comments will be made - even after 17 years of our country's democracy. That we will have a conversation with the little one at some point in the future - just not now - not at this tender age.

Children are not suppose to see colour - it shouldn't be an issue to them. They play with another - for the sake of having fun with each other.

We do not discuss race in front of our child. We have a range of friend across the spectrum - she sees people as just that. Hopefully even after her "friend" told her she's not exactly like him.

Who should we blame - society, her school, the friend's parents or should we blame ourselves? Should we have told a toddler that mommy and daddy are different and that you are special? That had we met two decades earlier, we would've broken the law having her?

Him being three as well, could not have made the distinction, could he?

His parents must've had a discussion about my child in front of him and he took it in, the topic making such an impression on him that he was able to recall it, discuss it.

Were we a bit too idealistic to think that our children will be non-racial? That we'll live Mandela, Tutu and King's dream?

Perhaps we were - perhaps we should shift the goalposts and hope for the best - perhaps in two generations, or five.

But I'll start today - I'll continue to show my child that race does not matter - that her mother remains her mother and I, her father. That her friends are beings to have fun with, even those who say she different.