A Few Stories About Racism and Coming Out of Ignorance

I never gave the song "Ten Little Indians" more than a few seconds of thought in my life.

A few months ago, a Native American adoptive parent I know from the internet complained that her children had been made to sing the song at a camp.

The original version, which I'd never heard, is horrific: the Indians get killed off one by one. But even in the simple counting version, it's obviously objectionable.

I suddenly realized why it was so objectionable. How would I feel if the song was "Ten Little Orientals"?

The other day, Sunny started singing the song in the car. He asked me to help him... he can count up to 100 flawlessly, but counting backwards isn't so easy.

"Sunny, I don't like to sing that song, because I think it's not very nice to the Indians to count them like that." This brought on a little sulk. "But it's just a song!" I offered to help him sing "Ten Little Boys" instead, but the rhythm was totally off, of course. I didn't tell him he couldn't sing it, just that I couldn't help him sing it. I wish I could have been more articulate.

When I was his age, I had a copy of "Little Black Sambo". I loved that book. I empathized with Sambo and his brave defeat of the tigers. As I grew up, I realized why it could be an objectionable and hurtful book. It wasn't the story or the plot; it was the visual representation that tied into a legacy of pain and dehumanization of black people. I'm not ashamed of my younger self for liking it, but I'd never, ever defend it.

I don't criticize Sunny's foster parents here because there's not a lot to criticize. They really are incredible. When people praise Sunny, I take the credit, but I don't deserve it yet, because who he is really comes from his biological parents plus the almost four years he was with his foster parents. They've done such a great job of raising him and loving him and teaching him... except in one area.

And it's not out of malice, it's simply ignorance and not knowing any better. I really believe that.

On one of our visits, we were eating dinner with the family. They were telling me about Sunny's food preferences. They joked that Sunny liked their kind of (white ethnic) food much better than fried chicken and watermelon. Sunny was sitting right next to them at the time.

My skin crawled, but I didn't know what to say. I changed the subject pretty quickly.

I mean, a lot of black people love fried chicken and watermelon. A lot of white people love fried chicken and watermelon. There's nothing WRONG with fried chicken and watermelon. But there's a long painful history of tying those foods to demeaning visual representations of black people. But how am I going to explain this politely without breaking out a slideshow? Arrgh...

His foster parents mean the best, of course. And sometimes I wonder why they decided not to adopt him. They said it's because he's so young and active and they're a lot older. They still take infant placements sometimes, though. And Sunny's special needs aren't that high. They've already adopted several children with FASD, which Sunny definitely doesn't have. One of them is a wonderfully sweet girl, but we were shocked when we found out her age, because she looks and acts about five years younger. I think one reason they didn't mention is that their very, very white social and school environment wasn't the best one for Sunny to grow up in.

It makes my position rather complicated. The only other blogger I know in my situation -- non-black, non-anglo-white parent of a black child -- is Angela at Bumpy Road. She's said before that her daughter's life would be easier if she had black parents, and I understood that logically the first time, but it's sunk in a bit more recently. I can't install pride via the force of a "we" or an "us". I'm focused on doing my best, but I'll have to think hard and take a roundabout path.