Race

In light of the video of that psychopath on the tram in Croydon, this seems a good time to address the thorny issue of race. For those of you that don't watch the news (or don't live in the UK - as I've been lead to believe some people don't) I'm referring to a YouTube video of a young woman screeching racist claptrap and swearing at passengers on the tram. All whilst her young boy was sitting on her lap no doubt wondering if his mum had been drinking window cleaner again. So before I get to the funnies (hopefully) let me make a point here.

Whilst it would be ridiculous to suggest I've been subject of racist abuse, I got beaten up three weeks running at school because my mother is Spanish. The first week because we were learning about the conquistadors and I got beaten up for killing Aztecs. The next week we were learning about the Armada and I got beaten up for trying to invade Britain in 1588. The third week I got beaten up for the Can-Can. I've never worked that one out. But then racists often aren't very bright. I got called a "frog" quite a lot too and being only a little Boy found myself saying;

"I'm not a frog, I'm a dago!"

until my mum heard me and hit me over the head with a broom.

Being a racist in the 21st century is on a similar intellectual level as thinking you can sail off the edge of the world. So I can't understand why we don't leave all that nonsense behind and get on with the good stuff like spaceships and silver spandex catsuits like in Buck Rogers. Its the 21st century. I should be travelling to work on a jetpack not having BNP leaflets shoved through my door.

The reason I make this point is not because I'm a pompous arse. I am a pompous arse, but its not the reason. I say this is because it sets the scene for how I deal with the issue of race with my Kids. Carefully and with great thought. Unfortunately because I am a galloping clusterf*ck of a man, fundamentally ill-equipped to deal with the world I also deal with it badly. Carefully, with great thought, and very badly.

Example. When the Boy was a toddler and the Girl was no more than a drunken fumble away, I took the him to a play group. I'd not been to a playgroup before so a good (although somewhat Ewok-like) friend came with me. I shall refer to her as Chief Chirpa.

To gain an understanding of what its like being the only man in a toddler's play group, imagine being a fighter pilot shot down in enemy territory. Its a bit like that only without the party atmosphere. Consequently I was ill-at-ease to begin with. Naturally this did not faze the Boy and he set about playing with a pirate ship. I chatted awkwardly with the mum's, drank a plastic cup of orange squash so strong you could have degreased and engine with it, and slowly became aware of what the Boy was doing. The pirate ship had a hold below deck (it was really cool!) The Boy had placed half the pirates into this hold. The other half of the pirates he'd put on the deck. What was disturbing to me (keep in mind, I'm an idiot) was that the white pirates were on the deck, and the black pirates were in the hold. To normal, well adjusted people this might have appeared to be perfectly normal imaginative play. To me (remember; idiot) he was recreating la Amistad.

I turned to Chief Chirpa and said; "Oh my Christ, he's made a slave ship!" In my head, I whispered this. In reality a room full of eyes swivelled towards me. Chief Chirpa rolled her eyes before felling a stormtrooper with a rock.

The last bit might just be how I remember it rather than an actual fact.

I am, by my own admission, hypersensitive to my Kids talking about race. So years later, when the Boy came home from school and said

"I've got two friends called Robert at school. One is brown Robert and the other normal Robert."

we had a looooooong conversation, none of which he understood in the slightest. Finally I got to the point that "brown Robert" is just the same as "normal Robert", he's just got different colour skin.

"DUH! I know that!"

I then carefully, with great thought and very badly pointed out that calling one Robert "normal" suggested the other one wasn't. Cue a blank stare.

"Call them by their surnames."
"What, like Robert Smith and Robert Jones?"
"Yes."
"Ok. Robert Jones is the normal Robert."
"Oh, crap."

So in the end I fell back on the good old fashioned "Don't say that. Its not nice." I had to use that same phrase tonight whilst  chuntering away over dinner he was spelling out "log"

"Luh-O-Ger. Log."

and started to realise he could spell out rhyming words

"Buh-O-Ger. Bog."

which meant he ended up saying

"Wuh-O-Ger. Wog!"

just as I was walking past him. I actually clattered into the wall trying to turn around and then stood for a long moment wondering what to say. Its like swearing, you can't make too big a deal of it otherwise they'll be talking like a dock worker. Or in this case probably walking up the high street shouting racial slurs. This, I came to the conclusion, was a Bad Thing. So, in went the big guns; "Don't say that. Its not nice" which set up another long and complicated explanation of why "some people are horrible to other people because they're different."  Its an ongoing process and as time goes by I become less and less squeamish talking about it.

The weird thing is, I remember having very similar conversations with my nan.