Perspective

I have been meaning to write up about a conversation that I had with my kids just before winter break. In lieu of a costume for their holiday performance (where they sang an adorable rendition of “All I Want for Christmas is My Two Front Teeth”), the class voted on wearing all white shirts. The holiday performance was from 5-9 on the Thursday before winter break. The kids stayed with us after school, we fed them dinner, and then sat with us until the end of the show. Aka, it was the longest school day of my life, and now I had a room full of children in shirts that had to stay white through two meals. (Let it never be said that teachers don’t earn their vacation time.)

When we were waiting to go into the auditorium, a group of my kids came up to me and, giggling, said, “Rebecca, you’re not wearing white.” It was true, I had opted out of matching my class, and trying to keep my own shirt unstained for a 13.5 hour work day. Then they added, “And you skin’s not even white!”

I hadn’t expected that. I smiled and nodded, as if, of course, I knew this was true. (Those of you who know me know that I don’t identify as “white”, but I am used to others perceiving this. Especially in China I’ve gotten used to exclamations of, “Oh really? You’re father is Chinese?? You don’t look it at all, at allllll.”)

After waiting the obligatory seconds pass, I asked my kids, “What color is my skin?” They looked at me, squinted and tilting their heads to the side.

“Peach,” one boy decided, and the others nodded in agreement.

“Oh yes,” I nodded. “What color is your skin?”

They all looked right at me, very serious. “White,” a few of them said in unison.
I was so interested in this response. What does one say in this situation, when you are half way around the world, where little Chinese children think that they are white and I am peach? I have to say, their descriptions are much more logical.

Is it my job to say, well, when you grow up and go to college in America, Caucasians will think they are white and that you are yellow? I’m guessing not, but I couldn’t help but think that one day each of these kids will grow up and find that out one day, and how strange it will feel. I remember when I first moved to New York at 18, and was considered white for the first time in my life. How strange it felt that everyone around me seemed to be on the same page, even though I was clueless.

I said nothing else that day, mostly because it was the longest work day ever and I was caught so off guard. The conversation has stuck with me, though, and serves as another reminder: I’m not in NY anymore…