What Not to Say to Grandparents of a Mixed Race Baby

I've seen a lot of articles about "what not to say" to parents of a mixed race baby, but nothing on how to talk to a grandparent about them. So here I go.

There are only a few things that really irk me when people discover that I have a bi-racial grand-daughter. And by "irk" I mean that I don't get worked up about things. I may, however, make a mental note that the person I'm speaking to might be an ass-hat. But I am polite and civil. Most of the time the off-putting comments come from strangers or acquaintances, so a rebuttal is not even necessary. Luckily I have a very loving and accepting group of family and friends. I've never come across blatant racism regarding her existence. And I don't know if black grandparents experience this or if it's just a white grandparent thing. Either way, some things that people might consider acceptable remarks are just...not.

So here they are in no particular order (and yes I've heard each at least once):

1) "Oh, you have a mixed race grandchild? So and so (whom you've never met and will never, ever meet in your lifetime) has a mixed race ____________ (daughter, cousin, grandson, etc.) too."

Reeeeally? Isn't that fascinating? I'm so glad that you've made me aware that there are other bi-racial children in the world and that you know one of them. The fact that you have decided to make small talk about this leads me to believe that you may not have a very diverse group of friends...so get on that. I mean, seriously, I understand that people want to feel connected to others but is that the best you've got? Bi-racial babies are not part of some elusive, unusual, alien-like species that are to be marveled at. In fact, anthropologists have stated that without a doubt, within about two hundred years, all of us will be "mixed race."

2) "She is the most beautiful mixed-race baby I've ever seen."

Not sure what the meaning of this is, exactly. Personally I think all babies are beautiful. I can count on one hand how many unattractive infants I've seen in my life, and I'm...middle aged. I admit that when my daughter told me she was pregnant the thought crossed my mind that the baby would be beautiful. Because it's what I've "heard." And also because our family does beautiful babies. It's just our thing. But having now "heard" it directly, about my grand-daughter, it definitely bothers me. Does this mean that she is only beautiful as a mixed race baby? As in, this person has seen "all" white babies that are much more beautiful? Or that if she was "all" black she'd be more beautiful? Dumb. So dumb. Just say she's beautiful. Common sense.

3) "Does she have kinky hair or regular hair?"

Regular? Meaning that kinky or curly hair is "irregular?" Why does this concern you? Perhaps this just slipped off your tongue.  You may have even immediately corrected yourself with "I mean, straight hair" but that doesn't really work either because it's not a question you would ask a grandparent of a "regular" er, I mean, "white" baby. Oops.

4) Is she a dark baby or a lighter baby?

Um, what? Why, why do you ask? Such a weird question. You're just curious? What? Come on. How about "is he/she healthy? How's mom doing with new motherhood?" People, people, please. The best way to respond to this one is with a long stare, followed by, "Excuse me?" followed by another long stare. Shuts 'em right up.

5) This isn't really a comment made exclusively to grandparents of mixed babies, but since I'm on a roll: "Is your son/daughter married?" or "Is the father in the picture?"

Hard to believe that in this day and age people still think this is an acceptable question to ask a stranger, but I still hear it. None of your F-ing business, lady ('cause usually it's a lady. You'd think us women would stick together and all but not yet I guess).

Like I said, I'm not going to punch you in the face. I'm so not into political correctness. I know most of you are just trying to be friendly. Naively so, but friendly nonetheless.  Just use your noggins, folks. You don't need to act fascinated. You don't have to make any reference to the color of my grand-daughter's skin.

She's just a baby. And she's loved beyond words.

    Check out my Youtube channel where "Peaches Pigglesworth" dishes about womanhood, being a mom, aging, and general non-sensical silly stuff. Link below.

                     https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=olTSTBqo0QE

This goes back just six years ago. A few things have changed. I will tell you which are now true and which are false.

16 things

December 10, 2008

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1) I can "do" snot, boogers, blood, vomit, dog poo, baby poo, and afterbirth. I cannot do "PHLEGM." I run away like a big scaredy-cat. As in the kind of goo that a ten-year old boy or forty-year old man hack up and want to show you because it's "a good one."   STILL TRUE. GUESS I'M READY FOR GRANDKIDS.

2) I am convinced that taking keyboarding in 1983 gave me a slight case of OCD. I still type. In the air. On my lap. All the time. Always the same words, too: "Why, yes, yes of course I do." STILL TRUE

3) There are two types of people in the world. People who really want "stuff" and people who really want "kids." When people ask me why I have so many kids, I tell them it's because I'm not into "stuff." YUP STILL TRUE

4) Making out is totally over-rated. All the movies and such that make it a big deal...the anticipation, the noises. Puh-lease. Anyone who's been married at least 10 years knows what I'm talking about. TRUE

5) I have no problem with taking legal substances to get through the day. Caffeine, alcohol, occasional tobacco, Xanax, Ativan. I mean, who goes the whole day without ingesting some sort of drug? I mean, really. It's the American Way. FALSE. IKSNAY ON THE RX-AY

6) Teenage daughters remind you of everything that is wonderful and awful about yourself. It's like looking in the mirror. Only without the crow's feet. Or the sags. It's unfortunate and humbling all at the same time. TRUE.

7) They say life begins at 40. OK, I'm waiting..................................... STILL WAITING

8) Don't try to fight a nervous breakdown. Just let it occur. It could be the best thing that ever happens to you, trust me. Just make sure you don't have access to any weapons and see #5. TRUE

9) I have what I fondly call my "valance." It is a lovely chunk of skin and sub-sebaceous fat from birthin' six kids. And it's true (don't let anyone tell you otherwise) that you can only lose so much weight, but this jello-like mass will still be there. A true DUNLOP (dun lop over my belt) draping not-so-lightly over your otherwise feminine form. If I could afford a tummy tuck, I'd do it in a heartbeat. Otherwise...be proud of your valance. Very proud. FALSE. OH IT'S STILL THERE BUT I'M NOT PROUD OF IT.

10) Chip and dip is ambrosia-food from the gods. And the gods' nectar? Coors Light. Having them together puts you in a state of euphoria. YEAH STILL TRUE.

11) Still waiting for my life to begin. SEE #7

12) Confession: I delete all forwards. I don't care if it's from my mom whom I love dearly or the Pope himself. If you think it's really special, take out the frickin' "FW" and maybe I'll take a peek. But just a quick one, 'cause if I see a bunch of these: >>>>>>>, yeah you guessed it... DELETED. STILL TRUE, THOUGH IT'S FUNNY HOW FEW WE GET NOWADAYS, EY?

13) I hate the man. Which man? THE ADVERTISING MAN. You know, the one who makes cartoons of elephant wives married to centipede husbands. Or some such nonsense. I buy GENERIC and stick it to 'em. COMPLETELY TRUE. I AM A GENERIC FANATIC.

14) Crazy as it sounds (hold your breath), I really like Kanye West's music. HMM...HAVE TO SAY FALSE.

15) I will do anything to avoid going outside unless it's over 50 degrees. I will lie and say that my back hurts or that I'm nauseated; whatever it takes. Don't tell me about the "pretty snow" or the "fresh breeze" or the "warm sun." You won't convince me. I want to live with my brother in Tennesee. And I mean, WITH him so I can kiss his baby's cheeks all the day. TRU DAT. THOUGH THE KID'S NOT A BABY ANYMORE

16) My dream vacation would be two weeks on a secluded beach in Florida with a cabana boy who hails from Puerto Rico and speaks very little English fetching me chips and dip and Coors light. Then my life will finally begin! :) ROGER THAT. STILL TRUE. 

Just Some Random Art & Stuff

The top is from a photo of a friend's calf. "Baby" (acryilc on canvas). We estimate at the time I took the photo he was just hours old. I had this painting upstairs but the kids insisted I bring it down. The second is a pair of random still-lifes (acrylic on canvas) using some of my favorite colors. Red, black, green. The Third painting is called "In Dreams" (mixed media: oil and acrylic on wood). Because it is, literally, from a dream I had. The bottom painting is based on a photo I took in Ghana, Africa.

 It's called "Ghanaian Mother," AKA "The Virgin Mary in Ghana." Here's the back story:

We were outside of Kumasi and had slowed down in heavy traffic. Dozens of women with babies on their backs attempted to sell us fruit. Bananas, Mangos, Plantains.

Our driver kept slowly moving; ignoring the sellers, until one particular woman managed to get quite close to our van.

“Brother, buy some fruit,” she said.

“What is your name?” our host, a priest, asked.

The young woman quickly glanced at our vehicle’s lettering. St. Ann School.

“My name is Mary,” she said, batting her eyelashes.

The priest let out a boisterous laugh. “Yeah, I bet your name is Mary,” to which the young woman giggled, admitting her mild deception.

We bought four mangos and three bananas.

I asked if I could take her picture, and she graciously obliged. Her baby was absolutely beautiful. And content.

I couldn't help but imagine, as we trudged along the busy streets, a young Virgin Mary with Baby Jesus on her back. Tending a garden, fetching water, cooking fish for her husband and son. More often than not, tired and worn out. Still, our Savior rested comfortably. 

Knowing He was loved by His Mother. 

A Letter to My Mother

I wrote this about fifteen years ago for an online publication. Every word of it is still true. Mom, Of all things that are certain and all things doubtful, that I am your daughter is the former. I will be your daughter when I am fifty. I will be your daughter when you have left this world. I will be your daughter when I join you in the Afterlife. And our relationship will forevermore be characterized by this union. How can I delve into the mysteries of this creative power you were given? How can I fully explain the depths of my feelings about you as my mother? My innermost recollections and emotions can only be served up on the platter of a reincarnated repetition—for in becoming Mother I know my mother; in evolving into a creator I have become like my creator and my Creator. Fleeting visions—sounds, smells and tastes; meld together into a reclining ladder that leads to our meeting place. The place of understanding and forgiveness and ultimately, Peace. My senses come alive at the memories of childhood. The familiar clangs of spatula against pot, beaters against bowl, and plates against table as you prepared my food. The sound of a new crayon box; opened by your hands, and the swish of an encyclopedia being pulled from the bookshelf as you encouraged me to expand my mind and soul. The hot, moist smell of mashed potatoes and the sight of a steamed-up kitchen window. The firm softness of your voice as you explained a difficult concept to me so that my heart would not become hardened. The warmth of your hand as you consoled me in my inexplicable sorrow. Such awkward years before I Left for Greater Things—how intelligent and powerful I thought I was! You were outdated—I was progressive. You were obstinate—I was tolerant. You were emotional—I was stable. You didn't understand—I was all-knowing. You were Mom--always in the background and often taken for granted. I was consumed with my needs and my wants and my dreams. I thought of your presence as an obstacle to overcome. Into adulthood, the obstacle turned into baggage—deliberately carried in spite of plenty of time and space to relinquish it. Why couldn't she have done it this way? Why didn't she say it that way? It's because of her I feel so… It's because of her I feel. I Feel. Life. You gave me life. The power of God's creative ability was manifested into your being. You Lived and you Loved by giving birth. You toiled and prayed and accomplished the task at hand. There was suffering. There were regrets. But surely, on my part, there was room for gratitude at the very least. Surely I could move on. So I moved on. And in moving on I, too, carried Life and brought it forth with the same Creative power that you held. I gave my Life and my All to my child with Love, and the journey continues—a journey not of my own making, but of yours and God's. For I am merely a rung on that ladder which started at the beginning of the Ages, culminated with your grandmother and her daughter, and continues with my daughter and me. The continuance of praying and toiling and accomplishing the most daunting duty ever created now occasionally makes me suffer. I have regrets and worries and all I can do is hope that my child will thrive. And in this realization comes more than simple gratitude for your perseverance. What comes is celebration—a joyous song of thanksgiving for all that you were, all that you are, and all that you will be. For in forging ahead I have come to understand the years behind us. I am humbled and exalted at the same time. Will my daughter revel in the sound of a new crayon box? Will she ever understand how, despite her protests and rolling eyes, some things that I tell her are only to help keep her heart from becoming hardened? Can the wafting scent of freshly-cooked something stir in her a simple fondness for the good things? When she is overcome with fear or anger or disappointment, will my comfort envelop her and give her renewed strength? Will the remembrance of that comfort remain in her heart forever? Before she decides to Get Out of This House, will she contemplate that I, too, am fragile beyond understanding and that my deepest desire is her well-being? When she moves on to try and discover who she is and where she is going, will she carry my memory as a weighty burden or will she lift it off with careless glee as we walk the rest of our Pilgrimage together? My only salvation that keeps me from wandering into a dark abyss of fear and "what-ifs" is the Present. The conversation that you and I had just the other day; sharing health concerns and baby stories and hopes for a better tomorrow: the notion that we are all just trudging our way through these valleys and plains and mountains with the very same tools the women before us also used. Gut instinct, a miraculous Mother Sense, and an intense, innate desire to protect those whom we've co-created from harm. You still perform this Mother Work. You still utter your praises to me and offer assistance. Only this time you first ask what my needs are. You trust that I have found my own way, and your Mothering has grown and changed. I use the gifts you gave me and also the ones I developed on my own, but still it is not enough. It is not perfect. Only in the realm of God will we come to know if our efforts were truly fruitful. There we will be shown how our Love gave Life and how our Lives gave Love. There we will meet all of our maternal ancestors and be reunited with the Creative Essence that enabled us to extend the ladder; to eternally give of ourselves in the most profound way that no other can possibly possess or even comprehend. You nurtured, pruned, and tore your hair out. I am nurturing, pruning, and tearing my hair out. I am you. You were me. We accept the past for what it was—a process, a learning; an infinitesimal speck and at the same time a bonding beyond measure to the turning universe. And so, my dear mother, we peacefully, painstakingly, move on. We lift our legs one rung at a time, climbing Life with no looking back—only holding on. For if we've made it this far, we can surely make it to the top. Just like they did. Love, Your Daughter

Bullying Curriculum...For Teachers?

The story of Akian, a 10 year old boy from New Jersey with autism, has become a YouTube sensation. Stories of bullying teachers are indeed out there, but this one in particular has created much more publicity than usual because of audio recordings that offer proof that it was indeed occurring. And these kinds of stories are going to become more commonplace because parents are utilizing technology to gain justice for their children. Akian’s father was able to record teachers humiliating his son, repeatedly yelling at him to “shut up” and calling the child a “bastard.” What’s more disheartening is the result of the father’s complaints even after proof of the bullying. The aid was fired; the teacher was merely transferred to another school. Akian’s father maintains that the teacher was there in the room and did nothing to reprimand the aids who were abusing his son; the school claims that they can’t prove the teacher was in the room, in spite of hearing several female voices on the recording. A father and mother in Washington are outraged after their 5-year-old son was sent home from school, and forced to carry a package of human feces. Attached to the bag was the note: “This little turd was on the floor in my room.” The result of this inappropriate behavior: teacher “reprimanded.” A school teacher in Washburn, Missouri refused to let a kindergartner go to the restroom, and then forced her to sit in her own feces for fifteen minutes. The teacher asked students to go to the bathroom before a math test, and then refused to let the little girl leave during the test. The six-year-old, who tended to get nervous around test times, was unable to keep herself from evacuating her bowels, but was told to remain seated until test time was over. She nervous girl was covered from hip to foot in diarrhea. Result: teacher “instructed in sensitivity.” Five- year old Gabriel of Indiana suffered verbal abuse at the hands of his teachers. After months of complaining by his parents with no action being taken, they sent their son in with a hidden digital recorder. They obtained proof that the teacher berated him in front of the class, asking if the class wanted him in the room, telling him even his friends don’t want him around. This went on for 149 days. Result: teacher put on paid administrative leave. Parents of Cheyenne of Ohio sent in a recorder with their 14 year old special needs child for four days. This is what they heard: “You are such a liar. It’s no wonder you don’t have any friends, no wonder nobody likes you. You need to do something to get rid of that belly. You don’t do enough at home but sit and watch TV all night and all weekend. Get you parents and go for a walk…I know you failed that test, I don’t even need to grade it, just keep it.” Result: teacher’s aid was fired, teacher on unpaid suspension. Also from New Jersey at a special education center: fifteen-year old Julio was subjected to this: “nobody gives a f*** about you, you tard. I will kick your a** from here to kingdom come ‘til I’m 80 years old!” There are no “two sides to every story” in these cases. The audio recordings go on for hours and hours, and it is clear that these teachers are, quite simply, horrible human beings. They should be fired and never allowed to teach again. Tenure and “special” circumstances make no difference. No child should have to be subjected to this kind of treatment. On that note, as a mother of six, I have never had any time that I believed a teacher was bullying my child. We are very blessed in our area to have many qualified and compassionate teachers. However, Stuart Twemlow, a psychiatrist who directs the Peaceful Schools and Communities Project at the Menninger Clinic in Houston, says that the problem is much more prevalent than we believe. According to his new study, published in The International Journal of Social Psychiatry, more than 70% of teachers believed that bullying by teachers was isolated. But 45% admitted to having bullied a student. Some teachers (of the 116 in the study) became extremely angry simply because Twemlow had the nerve to ask the question. Twemlow, a former high school teacher, says he’s not out to bash teachers. "There are a few bad apples, but the vast majority of teachers go beyond the call of duty. They're very committed and altruistic." A study in the American Journal of Psychiatry in 2005 showed “correlation” between teachers who bully and the success (or, in this case, lake thereof) of its students. No kidding? With all of the “bullying” programs in schools, perhaps it’s time to offer such a program for teachers.

False Outrage At Its Finest

The Trayvon Martin case has brought out the usual suspects of African American “leaders” who cry racism at every turn. The Reverends Jackson and Sharpton, using the same rhetoric of the Rodney King and Tawana Brawley cases, claim to be representing the black population.

But not all black leaders agree with their tactics.

Southern Baptist leader Richard Land has put his two cents in.

“Jesse Jackson says blacks are under attack. Louis Farrakhan vows retaliation. Rev. Al Sharpton organized massive protests demanding Mr. Zimmerman be arrested and sent to jail. [But the facts of the case will] be vetted in court, not in a mob mentality that's been juiced up by Al Sharpton who is a provocateur and racial ambulance chaser of the first order aided and abetted by Jesse Jackson.”

Rev. C.L. Bryant, once the chapter president of the Garland, Texas NAACP, said Martin’s family “should be outraged at the fact that they’re using this child as the bait to inflame racial passions.” He called Jackson and Sharpton “race hustlers” who are “acting as though they are buzzards circling the carcass of this young boy.”

And Alveda King, niece of Martin Luther King Jr., says she hopes Americans will see through it all. “[They] hype this so much to a point and make all these big demonstrations. Of course, there should be an outrage and there should be an outcry. But, remember: There are many other young people who are at risk and many young people getting killed in violent situations…I would believe that, by stirring up all of the emotions and reactions, I want to encourage them to remember the man that they say that they followed, to remember that his message (MLK’s) was nonviolence and very loving.” The likes of Jackson and Sharpton should “talk about nonviolence and not incite people with that race card that they are very good at playing.”

Her point of “many young people getting killed in violence situations” should not be underscored. The United States Bureau of Justice Statistics shows that 93% of blacks killed each year are killed by other blacks. Black on black violence is the Elephant in the Room that “leaders” like Sharpton and Jackson refused to acknowledge. While blacks are at about 12.5% of our population, nearly 50% of all homicide victims are black.

Why don’t these civil rights “leaders” work on that? Where are their demonstrations, their outcries, and their demands for justice for the 41 people, mostly African-American, who were shot and killed in Chicago alone in just three days this year?

Until these “leaders” address those injustices, their words of outrage are indeed just plain false.