Roxanne Suson, a Brookfield native and graduate of Brookfield East High School, provides readers with an eclectic mix of topics. Once a trial attorney, now a full-time mom, Roxanne blogs about the happiness, sadness, and absurdity of life and family in the suburbs.
Last Friday, my preschooler was learning about Martin Luther King, Jr. According to her, he was "good leader" who "dreamed of peace" and who "thought everyone should be the same even though our hairs are different."
My first encounter with racial prejudice happened while I was a teenager, here in Brookfield, and the words came from an adult, not a peer. I was young enough that I let the words hurt me. They cut deep, and even now, more than two decades later, the remembered pain still stings. At the time, I said nothing, partly because I was embarrassed and humiliated and partly because I did not know what to say back. I would like to say that was the first and last time I had to deal with prejudice, but it wasn't. I would like to say that my husband was spared from prejudice, but he wasn't. I would like to say that all the instances happened when we were young, but they didn't.
Both my husband and I have been called the "N" word in our respective lives, even though we are both racially Asian. In separate instances, both in the last few years, both my husband and I have been told to "go back to the country where you came from," even though we were both born, raised, and educated in the United States. In my case, it was by a child, not any older than perhaps 7. It happened the Halloween after September 11. And again, I said nothing ... because she was only a child.
I worry about my own child and what the world will be like as she grows up. Right now, I don't think she sees herself as "different" because at her school there is nothing to be "different" from. At her school, there are children who are Caucasian, Asian, and African-American. At her school, "Asian" can even be further subdivided into Korean, Chinese, and East Indian. The children learn how to count to ten in English, Spanish, and Japanese. Some of the children are even bilingual. It is a veritable mini-United Nations.
Last Friday, my daughter brought home a picture that she had colored. The picture is of a group of children in a circle. In the middle of the circle are the words "I have a dream." In the picture, my daughter gave the children either green, orange, or blue hair. No one's hair is black, brown, red, or blond. In the picture, everyone has purple skin. My husband says maybe she only had a limited number of crayons. I was hoping her picture meant something more than that.
On this day, the day set aside to remember Martin Luther King, Jr., I am going to find his famous "I have a dream" speech online. I am going to read it, and as I read it, I am going to hope that her picture has a deeper meaning, something much more than a lack of Burnt Sienna.
