Last school year, my seven-year-old son?s childhood ended. He was in grade two, and we had to explain to him the intricacies of being a Black boy in the school system.
My son had a great grade two teacher. But he did have a challenging year as the only Black child in his class?he was beginning to question his identity. He wasn?t always happy going to school, and his teacher, as lovely as she seemed, was consistently calling me to report on what I considered trivial concerns. She said he didn?t express excitement enough, and the next time she called it was to tell me he was expressing his emotions too much. We tried a collaborative approach: talking to her, talking to him each time, but the calls continued.
Finally, we sat him down and had ?the talk.? We had to tell him that his behaviour had to be twice as good as his classmates’. That he had to stand extra still when it was time to line up to go out for recess and to be sure not to get too excited in class. When other kids bothered him, he should always just ignore them and never engage. Essentially, to never defend himself or raise his voice, because his teacher may misinterpret his behaviour as threatening. We had to teach him to police his behaviour first, before others had the opportunity to do so. We had to teach him the realities of being Black. The very next day, after we asked our seven-year-old son to dim his light, we received a glowing report from his teacher.
Prior to this, in an attempt to address my so...