Hello, and welcome to the last Saturday of February here at the Wannaskan Almanac. Today is February 27th.
Two things occurred to me this week. One, that tomorrow is the last day of the month which means that's a wrap on the official recognition effort known as "Black History Month." And two, I don't think my kids had one thing to say about it or to report from school.
Every day when kids come home from school, they normally greet me with a yell from the front door. "Honey, I'm h-OOOO-me!" (Or maybe they say, mommy. I can't always hear that well.) The Kindergartner bounds downstairs to my office, hot and sweaty, cheeks flush from the bus ride and his enthusiasm. He flings papers from his backpack, showing me all the things he cut, colored, read, and wrote. He reads the little book he made for the letter of the week, and, together, we read his newest library book. I sometimes remember to check his lunch box for any remaining apple slices or carrot sticks.
The Third Grader, on the other hand, darts to her room and shuts the door so she can play with Legos until mom notices she hasn't started her homework yet.
The WAKWIR (Wannaskan Almanac Kid Writer-in-Residence) is cheerful and buoyant like his little brother and gives me the full rundown of his day. His progress in welding, his most recent test score on an English exam (he's reading Romeo & Juliet), his latest technology wish and plan to procure that wish, and, starting today, what he wants to do for his birthday, which is in exactly 27 days.
The Second Oldest, well, he's in the thick of the teenage experience. He might grunt a few words here and there. On a good day (like Thursday), he might show me how he created an Excel spreadsheet. We even went on a short walk.
But nary a word the entire month of February about Black History Month.
Not even from my college student.
"Did your teachers talk about it at school?" I asked my high schoolers.
"Nope."
"What about Martin Luther King?" I asked the littles.
That was January.
The perky part of me gives grace to this oversight for one big, overshadowing reason: the pandemic. In our own household, two kids have been quarantined due to possible exposure. Just when we thought we were out of the woods (that's an idiom. The Third Grader is learning all about those, along with onomatopoeia. And you bet I double spellchecked that), I got the call on Monday that one of my two quarantined kids was granted an extension of an additional week.
All that aside, this is otherwise yet another one of those parenting fall-down-on-the-job moments. And not just a general welp! Mom forgot to do it again! but an extra helping of guilt and consternation. I was an exchange student. I've lived in three European countries. I've studied four languages. I married a Czech! My Candian friends give me honorary Canadian status! I value learning about different cultures and my worldview posits that diversity is what makes our human collective stronger. Ideally, even better.
Perhaps this negligence isn't about me as an individual but rather standard operating procedure for a white person living in the comfort zone of the majority, dominant culture. In other words, when has Black History Month ever been on my radar?
Unless my teachers brought it up in school? Never.
Summer 2020 changed all of that. Since last summer, I have been reading about race, racial history, racial trauma, and how it all leads to the crackling stress fest that fills the fabric of American society like static electricity ready to zap when we least expect it. I've been listening to podcasts, watching YouTube videos, and learning about Black authors, journalists, and influencers. In my writing coach business, I've been working towards more intentionality: Who do I serve? Who are my collaborative partners? How do I make these circles wider? Living in a rural area with a largely white population, I regularly visit the same question: How do I do my part to deconstruct the racial narrative and replace it with a be something that is loving and equitable?
If you're like me and a month of learning has gone by in which you forgot to bring your family and friends on the bus, well, here's your chance! I've thrown together this handy list of what a few like-minded friends and I have been reading, listening, and discussing.
Click away, peeps!
Authors & Books
Fiction
March: Book One, John Lewis (Author) Andrew Aydin (Author) Nate Powell (Illustrator)
The Kindest Lie, Nancy Johnson
Nonfiction
Caste (Oprah's Book Club): The Origins of Our Discontents, Isabel Wilkerson
The Color of Compromise, Jemar Tisby
Why We Can't Wait, Martin Luther King
Podcasts/Videos
A Conversation with the Police - Uncomfortable Conversations with a Black Man
Southern Shame Culture & How to Fight Racism w/Jemar Tisby
Why do White Christians Vote Republican, and Black Christians Vote Democrat?
Projects
Sahan Journal - the only independent, 501(c)(3) nonprofit digital newsroom dedicated to providing authentic news reporting for and about immigrants and refugees in Minnesota.
Sojourner Truth and a comparison of two transcriptions of her "Ain't I a woman" speech
On This Day
Remembering You
Kim
ReplyDelete“The Irish are the blacks of Europe.”
-The Commitments
WALLACE: Black History Month, you find …
ReplyDeleteFREEMAN: Ridiculous.
WALLACE: Why?
FREEMAN: You’re going to relegate my history to a month?
WALLACE: Come on.
FREEMAN: What do you do with yours? Which month is White History Month? Come on, tell me.
WALLACE: I’m Jewish.
FREEMAN: OK. Which month is Jewish History Month?
WALLACE: There isn’t one.
FREEMAN: Why not? Do you want one?
WALLACE: No, no.
FREEMAN: I don’t either. I don’t want a Black History Month. Black history is American history.
WALLACE: How are we going to get rid of racism until …?
FREEMAN: Stop talking about it. I’m going to stop calling you a white man. And I’m going to ask you to stop calling me a black man. I know you as Mike Wallace. You know me as Morgan Freeman. You’re not going to say, “I know this white guy named Mike Wallace.” Hear what I’m saying?