My daughter, Aimée* joined our family two years ago at age 15. During that time, I?ve showered her with love and attention, and the bond between us is heartfelt. But in spite of the adoption-marketing cliché ?All you need is love,? I knew this Canadian-born girl of African heritage needed more than that from me?a white, Scottish-born Canadian?to grow up to be a proud and confident Black woman.
We discuss race, culture and social justice regularly, but we also acknowledge with frustration?and, at the worst of times, tears?that there?s a gap between how we experience the world that no amount of talking can fully bridge.
Around a quarter of the kids at Aimée?s Toronto school are Black, however, there is only one Black teacher. The lack of representation on staff shows in the dearth of Black authors, icons and race-related material covered in classes. Aimée has a passion for history and was craving a deeper understanding of events and historical figures that would resonate for her as a young Black woman. When this issue came up, my first impulse was to call the school administration. (But that?s another story for another time.) My second impulse: road trip!

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