After the previous post about Z missing the point of charity I thought I’d point out one lesson that might have sunk in.

A few years ago she decided that she wouldn’t watch America’s Next Top Model with me anymore because “there are too many black people.”  Oh Lord Have Mercy.  I brought this up to her father in a public place so he couldn’t murder her. 

He is Italian and Native American.  I never noticed his skin tone but he is asked his race by every non-white person he meets.  Growing up in the south it was an issue.  Z’s mother is white.  I’m white.  When I held out my hand and compared it to her father’s darker hand she was shocked and horrified.  It got worse when she was shown that her skin color was between ours. 

There have been times over the years when she would triumphantly yell apropos of nothing, “I’m White!!! I’m Rich!!!”  Her father would grit his teeth and explain that she was not lily white and she personally was broke.

This weekend she brought me a book she made in school called “My Mom and I”.  Her teacher had written in Step above the mom.  There were several writing prompts like, “My Mom and I like to…” and then she’d draw a picture and finish the sentence.  It was sweet that she made the book for me.  (It almost made up for me feeling so left out when she forgot to claim that I had abused her when she accused every other person she had ever met to CPS.)  Her father asked if she made a book for her mom too.  She said, “No, I had to pick.”  Yeah, they are fighting right now.

When she left the room I pointed out the picture on the front that she drew of the two of us.  I was dressed in head to toe pink.  She’s so observant.  Then I realized that my skin was yellow and hers was a slightly darker shade of brown.  Her father was so proud!