Love

Abstract

Love is...about what we do not just what we feel. It's a verb, not a noun. -bell hooksBefore I became a mother, I didn't have any thoughts about how exactly I would talk to my children about racism. I simply knew that I would. My parents had certainly also not given it much thought. Racism probably only became an issue for them when they moved from Ghana to England in the middle of the 1960s. I was five years old when I told my parents that I wished I were white. My father laughed and repeatedly teased me about it for the rest of the day. My mother became cross. While she scolded me, I decided never to bring up this topic at home ever again. It was clear to me early on that my children shouldn't grow up the way I did. They should never feel ashamed of their hair, think they're ugly, or in any way question their own humanity. I had thought I was unworthy of love. That should be different for my own children.My second son, Tyrell, is nineteen years old and recently began training to become an actor. When asked, he usually answers that he is German. Often, he also says "German-British" or that his parents are from Munster and London. He identifies as Black with a capital "B" because he wants to highlight, not a perceived skin color, but rather the political identity He usually brushes off people who try to get an explanation from him about why he "doesn't look that German." I recently told Tyrell a little about my own childhood and my inability to find my voice back then."It was clear to me," I said, "that you all would need a vocabulary to name the experiences that you would encounter in a predominantly white society."Tyrell smiled softly, as if he were thinking about how he let me in on an uncomfortable truth. He is very patient with me."Did you ever consider," he asked, "how this knowledge might turn your kids into a kind of target?" "Target?" I sputtered. "Yeah. Precisely for that reason." "No," I eventually admitted. "I never thought about that." And how would I have? I was well-mannered, hardworking and had adjusted well in school. It was through Tyrell that I experienced for the very first time how a schoolchild could openly confront racist prejudices. In the fourth grade, a white girl had waved an eraser around near Tyrell's face. Tyrell asked her why. A white boy answered: "She's trying to erase your skin color. Black skin is from the devil."Otoo & Merritt: Love