keep on livin' the dream

Calum taught us a song about Martin Luther King Jr. The lyrics were cute, simple, and about not judging by the color of one's skin. We said "great! thanks Cal!" and then Brett turned to me and said, "It's too bad they have to introduce the notion of race right off the bat when teaching about MLK. Seems like they should start with his basic philosophy on how to treat other people."

At which point I launched into an excited, lengthy dialog with myself on the topic.

As you already know, spending time outside with our children is a Top Priority, probably even higher than reading with our kids. But I don't talk about ecological problems around the kids. Why? Because they are still too young to grasp the complexity, much less the gravity, of such things. I want them to first connect with the outdoor world, to be excited by it, mystified, awed. I want them to not simply appreciate it, but affix their connection to the natural world as part of who they are, how they understand themselves as human beings. Now that's probably an overly complex way of stating it, but we start by understanding, by experiencing, by forming a connection on which we will base all our caring-about-it later.

I don't talk to them about things like habitat destruction, or stormwater management, or extinction. Not yet. I want to avoid introducing fear and shame into the equation. For now, we are simply building a relationship between them and the natural world, whether it's stick collecting or a camping trip. They love the outdoors without us even trying very hard.

There was an article trending this week, maybe you saw it? While it's certainly worth your three minutes to read the actual thing, the summary is this: All kids are ok. We simply have to assure them of this. It doesn't matter their quirks or abilities or talents. They need us to always know they are ok; just as they are, they are ok.

The article dealt with children, but I think adults are the same way. We all want reassurance that we're ok. Without it, we become fearful. We fear others might find out we're totally neurotic, or absolutely faking it, or angry or broken or ugly. Fearing others makes us angry, broken, and ugly. It can cause us, whole groups of us, to treat others as less than we are. It can cause us, whole groups of us, to collectively forget that we are all, simply, humans.

And sometimes being human is a real chore. There have been some recent news stories that speak directly to this: Rick Perry's "Strong" ad and the U.S. Marines peeing on corpses of Afghan men come to mind. Sometimes we believe power makes us righteous. Sometime we judge those we do not understand. Sometimes we are filled with hate and anger and we do shameful things, irreversible things that we must live with. That doesn't mean we are going to hell. We are destroyed by hate and we destroy with hate. That is hell.

My boys are interested in MLK, wondering why they are off school today and what's that all about? Don't get me wrong that I want to deny them their history lesson, because I am all in favor of them learning the full scope of their nation's history. But they are very young, and first I want them to learn about People. Because people? People are awesome. People are the most awesome part of being a person, if you ask me.

I want them to build friendships, to experience people around them without any shame or fear attached to race (or, for that matter, ability or orientation or gender). Emmett will describe another child in his class as, "She's the one who has the Dora blanket and she's dark?" I love this. There's no embarrassment or anxiety to describing her skin color, and in that way, he's innocently color blind. The color of skin means no more to him that her love for Dora. I think MLK would be thrilled.

Out of respect for history and those who lived it, and out of a desire to never repeat society's abhorrent mistakes, of course we all need a history lesson on the significance race and racial inequalities in America. There is a vast gray area between innocence and ignorance. But that's the beautiful thing about children: they are innocent of their histories. Inside that child's innocence: that's where we alter the course of history itself.

I fear that our children will face racial struggles far more formidable than our parents' generation ever did. Their struggles will involve whole nations across the globe and the finite nature of certain natural resources. I don't know what the solutions might be.

But here's a good place to start: empathy. Teach it. Practice it. It's elegantly simple. It's profoundly difficult.