Not even the same color

Race is an interesting thing. My daughter is across the street playing right now with three girls, two just her age and one a big younger, and all black except for her, but you’d never know any of them noticed their difference in skin color. And her best friend in her class this year is a black girl. But she’s had this boy calling her all weekend long. Every time he called she’s been out or in the shower or something. She didn’t seem interested in calling him back, and since I’m not keen on her calling boys at the ripe old age of TEN, I didn’t encourage her to return the call. Finally after he called at 10:30 p.m. last night, I figured he seemed awfully eager (not to mention painfully stupidly rude, since he’d called just a little earlier at 9:15 and I’d told him it was past her bedtime and he couldn’t talk to her). So this morning I asked her, who is this boy? A kid in her class. Does she like him? “Mom,” she said (in that my-mother-is-so-dumb voice), “we’re not even the same color.” I did tell her that you don’t have to be the same color as someone to like them, after which I was relieved to have her tell me that she knew that, ok? (And in that voice again too.)

I am, of course, grading final exams. Because I’m a nice person who doesn’t believe everyone should have to suffer just because I am, I sent Chris off to kayak. I’m home reading papers while Will naps and Laura plays with her friends. Of course it’s much more interesting to make fascinating observations about race on one’s blog than it is to finish grading papers. I could look at my grades, for instance, to notice the impact of race on student writing and grades (lots of interesting academic work on this topic, which is also disturbing at times). However, since it seems as if many of my students are bound and determined to proclaim their academic heresy by doing things like incorrectly citing every internet source possible while conveniently omitting any library sources at all, it’s more of an auto-da-fé. I guess I should just be grateful they’re at least trying. Three more in the first class, and I’m done. Whew.