In just a couple of weeks, my husband and I will joyfully welcome another granddaughter into our lives. Her older sister, Sophia, is just 18 months old so understandably, she has no idea what she’s in for! 

Sophia is just like her Dad was at her age – a rough and tumble kid who is constantly on the move, fearlessly climbing up and over everything, and whose body already bears a few slight scars to show for it. So this past week, it dawned on me that it might be a good idea to buy Sophia a little doll – not only so that she won’t feel left out when we bring a gift for her newborn sister, but because having a “baby” of her own might provide an opportunity to practice being gentle and careful with the real baby! 

On Saturday I decided to check out the selection of dolls while I was at Target. They didn’t have many that were appropriate for a toddler. But then my eye caught a doll that seemed just right – an infant small enough for Sophia to hold in her arms and soft enough that it shouldn’t cause any real damage if she happens to throw it. (Let’s face it – learning to be gentle will take a little practice!)   

But what I appreciated most about this particular brand of doll is that they come in an array of skin colors, from very fair to very dark. If I have ever before given any conscious thought to the color of a doll’s skin, I don’t remember it. But Sophia’s skin is a beautiful light brown, a perfect mix of my white son and bi-racial daughter-in-law. I bought the doll whose color most closely resembles Sophia’s and thought of all the children of color who have never had a doll – or anything else to play with – that reflects  their own image. 

Granted, it’s hard not to think of race and color at the moment, given the events of recent days. And I’ve been asking myself why I haven’t ever given it as much conscious thought as I am giving it now. After all, the mother of two of our granddaughters is bi-racial. Our grandson’s maternal grandparents grew up on the Pine Ridge and Red Lake Indian reservations. My husband’s sister is married to a black man. Our son-in-law is Japanese-American, and his parents (who were both born in the United States) were forced to live in Japanese Internment Camps during WWII.  

Why haven’t I had conversations with my own family members about their experiences…about what it was like for them – or for their parents – to be treated differently just because of their color or race or ethnic background? I’m still reflecting on this, but in all honesty, I think the answer that seems most probable is that my own fear has gotten in the way. My fear of not knowing what to ask. My fear of rocking the boat. My fear of saying the wrong thing. My fear of showing just how naive I really am. My fear of learning things that won’t leave me any other choice but to delve uncomfortably into my own deeply-ingrained prejudices and beliefs. 

But I can’t comfortably sit by any longer. I need to break out of the bubble that simultaneously protects me and causes a distorted view of the world around me. My fears are still there. But I am trusting in God to give me courage for the conversations I need to have and to open my eyes to the things I need to see.  

So I began this past weekend. I asked my sister-in-law how old their two sons were when she and my black brother-in-law first had “the talk” with them about what to do in case they were pulled over by the police. In part, here’s what she said: 

“Andy and I don’t remember a ‘when’ specifically. Raising children of color to be safe in our society is a process. It’s instilling in them that they have to think differently than their white peers….They learned (in large part from the news and the media) that the physical danger is real for black person interactions with the police, but I don’t think they necessarily thought it applied to them. It was probably junior high when we tried to help them understand that it did apply to them, that they were now ‘viewed differently’ by society. With any contentious interaction, they needed to always ‘cooperate, be polite and agree’ no matter how wrong the cop/teacher/whoever was. This is how to live/survive in a society that will always view you differently….” 

I was not surprised by anything my sister-in-law said, but it pains me just the same to know that our kind and compassionate nephews needed to be taught that they may be at risk just because of their brown skin and curly black hair. And I feel a mixture of gratitude and sadness that it was never a necessity for my white sons to be taught that same lesson.  

I have a long road ahead of listening and learning if I am to be at all effective in working for justice. The reality is that there will be many difficult and uncomfortable conversations. But it’s a reality I’m willing to accept because I’m in this for the long haul, as indeed, we all are. 

Gracious God: Open our eyes to see your image in those whose image is different than our own. Give us courage for the road ahead and sustain us with your loving presence. Amen.