“But Where Do You Want Him To Be A Teenager?”

The universe has definitely been guiding my path over these last few months. It’s gotten me through my boy’s first year, it’s supporting me through night weaning (an on-going, brutal process that I’ve wanted to quit a million times…), has helped me think of what professional next steps make sense and has also made purchasing a condo a not-too-far off reality.

That last part, though, the purchase of a home, is proving to be much more complex than granite countertops, proximity to public transportation or an adequate number of bedrooms, however.

My beloved mentor, who is always supportive and always says the words I need to hear, asked me where I wanted to live. I rattled off some places in the city before her prolonged, thinking pause. Finally, she responded:

“But, Kim, where do you want him to be a teenager?” 

Essentially, she said, where would I want E to be able to walk to a local store when he is a gangly, growing adolescent, to go to a park, to not have to worry about being harassed, or profiled (and I have to stop myself from letting my mind go further than that, to forcefully stop it from creating scenarios that are too fearful and terrible for me to fathom for this child) or anything else?

My initial response was to think: Do such places even exist? Too bad you can’t run a Zillow or MLS search to include those criteria.

I’ve been reading and writing James Baldwin this summer with kids in my program and he so passionately believed in love and hope and, particularly, in the promise of those elements in children. And because I believe in Baldwin, doesn’t it make sense that I should also believe in these things for E? I have to believe in those things.

Doesn’t make it any easier to decide, however, where that place will be, but, because I have to believe that it does exist, or at the very least that I can attempt to create that place with him, I’ll keep looking.

3/8/15: Libraries as Public Space

The Boston Public Library recently opened its newly-renovated children’s room. My first student teacher (from over a decade ago–my how the time passes…) and I have become great friends over the years. Now, as both parents of young children, she has become one of my dearest sources of support and sanity. We see each other weekly, when we usually share a meal and do some sort of physical activity. Today, we took the babies to a sushi brunch and then over to the library to check out the new space.

The renovation is incredible! The architect of the room understood early childhood development and the importance of literacy. The room has several dedicated spaces for hands-on play, for adult-child reading, for creative play, for technology…it is a dream. An absolute dream. The children of the city are quite lucky.

As E played and we chatted, I noticed that, save for us, there were no people of color in the children’s room–primarily, I’m talking about children and parents of African descent and Latino/a children and parents. We asked the librarian if what we noticed was just an “off day,” but she said that on the weekends, the users of the library tended to be White, while throughout the week the numbers of families of color ticked upward a bit more. Slightly.

Hmmm…Boston is a majority/minority city, meaning that most of the residents of the city are people of color. Yet, none were in this beautiful library. I’m not into deficit narratives, so I am not going to insert one here. I do wonder, however, what the library is doing to make everyone aware of the renovation (it’s only been open for a few weeks), if they’re reaching out to communities of color and local community branches, if they’re talking to a diverse group of mothers from around the city to think about programming. Then, just like that, the librarian wrote our contact information down to chat about these ideas and to follow up on our conversation.

I’m conflicted. I think that it’s not my job to notice absences and then be pegged to help change those absences. However, if I don’t use my literacy experience and expertise–particularly what I know about diverse books and young people–then who knows if there’s going to ever be any significant, substantial change about how to make these spaces appealing for everyone all the time?

What I do know is that, while the space was beautiful and quite breathtaking, I felt a bit uncomfortable being the only mom of color. Yet again. I do think that moving between spaces where we are the only POCs comes at a cost, even if it’s sitting around chatting awkwardly with other parents while E plays happily. I don’t know if my unease can outweigh the benefit of taking him back.