For those who think children don’t know any better: they’re not blind, they’re not deaf, and they’re not mute either.
This piece is based on a Quora Question. Link on the last page.
1/11. My little sister is such a pretty little girl, she has beautiful curly hair, big eyes, shes a lovely little girl. However, she didnt see those things.
Throughout most of my life, I shared a room with my little sister. We were seated on my bed, and I was combing her hair. She was holding a mirror in her hands, so she could see how her hair was turning out.
She seemed to be studying her reflection very closely, so I asked her about it. Whatcha thinking about?
Then she said it, in an matter of fact tone. I wish I was white.
I cant begin to explain how those words felt. To hear my own little sister say something like that about herself It broke my heart. I have always struggled with my own image of myself.
I didnt like my curly hair, I didnt like my large lips or nose, I thought I was ugly.
I felt like that throughout my childhood, and I was jealous of my white classmates for having long straight hair, small lips and noses, pale skin. It broke my heart to hear my little sister had those same thoughts.
The pain behind those words was real. It wasnt just a little girl with low confidence, it was a child manipulated by years of racism ingrained into our society. There are very few things worse than hating your own body. Because youre stuck in it. Thats the body you have, and it wont change.
My little sister seemed to have just realized that. She was pained by the reality that she was stuck in a dark skinned body for life. And that hurt. Those were the saddest words Ive ever heard a child say.
-Claire Chase
2/11. Child: “What is this?”
Me: “Grass.”
Child: “Oh.” Confused expression, turning into a smile. “It’s nice. We don’t have it where I’m from.”
That was nearly 20 years ago and it still brings a tear to my eye as I think about it. i’ll tell you why. (continued…)
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I used to tutor inner-city elementary children during college. That is what one of the 1st grade students said to me when he stepped on campus during our first tutoring session.
My university is a major top US private university located in a city which has one of the highest levels of poverty in the country. My university campus and the surrounding few streets are in a separate world: beautiful buildings, rolling grassy hills, impeccably landscaped, marble floors, brick/stone sidewalks, etc.
That was the first moment I realized that in the US, within the same city, literally in our own backyards, there can be very different worlds.:
It’s possible to go to college and think that the world is a green, lush, cobblestoned place. Meanwhile, just a short walk from campus, where the schoolchildren were from, the world looked like an inner-city ghost town.
I never forgot that moment. Before that, my sheltered naive self thought that a child having grassy lawns to play on was a basic American right. Lets remember that its a blessing and a privilege, because not everyone has it.
This is not a political rant about giving handouts to the poor (I dont necessarily believe in that), but its just a reality check that the world is not fair, not everyone is born equal even though they should be, and that before we criticize the poor for being poor or not working hard enough, we should take a moment to acknowledge that poverty is real.
-Anonymous
3/11. When I picked my daughter up from Kindergarten, they were all in the obligatory “hug the teacher goodbye” line. Her turn came and she looked at the teacher and said,
“Maybe tomorrow you will like me, Mrs. Bounds.”
Worst mommy moment that I didn’t get her out of there right then and there!
-Anonymous
4/11. I have heard a range of excuses from students who struggled to do their homework assignments.
In a one-on-one conference, I asked this one student why was it so hard for him to get his homework done. The answer was alarming. (continued…)
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He looked up at me, and in his most heartfelt eleven year old voice said, “My mom took me to a psychic to find out why I wasn’t good in school work. The psychic told her I used to be a doggie in my previous life and not to expect much.”
That was the most alarming answer I have ever heard in my whole 25 plus years of teaching.
I remember feeling dumbstruck. I didn’t know whether to laugh at the absurdity of his answer or cry for the helplessness of his situation.
I wish I could tell you how I responded. I don’t know exactly. It was along the lines of, “Let’s just focus on this life and see what we can do together.”
-Michele L. Gaddis
5/11. When I was doing my student teaching, I worked for five weeks with elementary school children teaching art.
We had been reading a book with really beautiful pictures that illustrated the story. I had each of the students draw a picture to tell a story from his or her life.
One child, whose clothing was several sizes too small, had drawn a picture, but I couldn’t figure out what it was. I asked him to talk to me about his picture. He said, “That’s me in my bed.”
I said, “Well, what are all the black dots?”
He said, “Those are the cockroaches. They crawl on me at night. Sometimes they bite.”
I wanted to cry right there, but I didn’t want to upset him. I went to the teacher and told her about it. She said, “I don’t doubt it, but what can you do?”
-Elizabeth Knight
6/11. One day, during one of my (now ex) husband’s deployments to Iraq, one of our children showed me a picture he drew at school. It was a stick figure drawing of our family. I, of course, said it was lovely. But then I noticed that something was off. (continued…)
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The count was off by one. When I asked my son to name the people in the picture, he left out his dad. When I asked “What about Daddy?”, he looked at me, a little shocked, and replied, ” I forgot about him.” My heart twists even now remembering this day.
Our veterans are not the only one with scars from these countless deployments. Hug a military child wherever you get a chance.
-Michele Bedard
7/11. I raised my now 21 year old grandson for most of his childhood. He was a little quirky and had sensory issues. He did not like to be touched very much.
He would let me massage his back before falling asleep, but he didn’t like hugs. His other grandparents and dad seemed to take this as rejection of them and I couldn’t explain it to them.
One afternoon after a good visit, his dad reached out and grabbed the boy and gave him a bear hug. For most kids this would be a good thing, but not for my grandson. He fought off his dad, and was scolded for it…ruining the visit.
A couple of weeks later my grandson’s father died suddenly. I hoped that the end of that last visit would be forgotten, but I really knew better. One night before bed he quietly said, “I wish I liked hugs.”
-Janet Allen
8/11. So, some years ago, my 14 year old niece Kaylie and I were in the car together. She was switched to the local career center and no longer attended her local high school. But shes very bright and Im not just saying that.
Shes so damned emotionally intelligent she sees through people. I adore that girl. But she just doesnt have an interest in a lot of things that some people label book smarts. Shes self-aware, driven and wants to be a carpenter.
So we were driving down the road some months after school started. I turned to her and asked, So how do you like your new school?
I expected her to say “good, thanks.” I was mistaken. (continued…)
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Without skipping a beat, she said, Oh, I love it. The girls there dont call me fat and ugly every day.
What the hell do you say to that? I looked at her. What?!
Casually, as if telling me to pass the butter, Yeah. The girls at my old school told me that I was fat and ugly every day. One girl told me to kill myself. Another one Never mind. It upsets me typing this. I have never wanted to commit murder as badly as I did then.
But Kaylie just brushed it off. I know inside she was wounded and would be for life. She will carry those words with her until the day she leaves the Earth. They will never go away. But, Kaylie grew from it. She channeled the pain and is this insanely well-balanced, smart, driven girl.
That moment broke my heart, but Im insanely proud of her.
-Dan Holliday
9/11. I have a neighbor. He shouts at his kids a lot. He has a close friend with a little girl, Mindy. Does this guy also shout at his kids a lot? I don’t know…
The other day, my neighbor’s son Marco, 6, and Mindy, also 6, rang my door bell. “Marco threw his monster ball on your balcony. We want to get it – if you won’t be angry?”
Me: Of course I won’t be angry. Come in.
Mindy: Are you really not angry?
Me: I’m never angry with kids.
Mindy: Never?
Me: Never.
Mindy: Not even if we do something wrong?
Me: No. I’d probably tell you it was wrong, but I wouldn’t be angry. I will never be angry with you.
She looked at me again, for a few seconds, then flung herself into my arms. I didn’t even know her, before this. There’s no saying exactly what the background is, but I found it sad.
-Charlotte Neumann
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10/11. Last year I was driving a young woman with her 4-year-old son from her home to a grocery store.
The father is a drug addict and dealer and doesn’t live with them, but both the mother and father spend a fair amount of time together.
Anyway, the little guy in the back was whining and complaining to his mom about something he wanted and she wouldn’t give him and they began a nasty back and forth.
Finally, the 4 year old blurted out this line that silenced everyone.
“Mommy, I have four ‘rids’ and I’m not giving you any.”
Ritalin (aka, rids ) is highly abused in this area of New England… Commonly given to children for ADHD. the parents often take the kids meds, then snort them or shoot them.
-Tom Chandler
11/11. There are two things that stick in my mind.
The first was from a set of identical twin girls (biologically identical) who lived near us. One of them, at 3 years old, began suffering with Juvenile Rheumatoid Arthritis. Note that it’s way nastier in young children than adults, as their bones are not as strong and their bodies aren’t as resilient.
The thing I will always remember is the healthy child, aged 4, saying, “Why does my sister have to hurt and I don’t? I wish I hurt like her so we could be the same. Then she wouldn’t have to cry when I forget and run and jump.”
The other one comes from my son, Arthur. I have arthritis. A few weeks ago he turned round to me, aged 4, and asked “Why does my name sound like what’s wrong with you? Did I make you mad?
-Dawn Crystal Jones