Why I care about diversity

I still remember the first time I encountered racism while reading aloud to my eldest two daughters.

They were no older than three and a year… quite merry in their mess-making as they frolicked about the room, occasionally nestling in for a brief snuggle. And there I sat…lodged semi-comfortably against our most beloved, regal, cream-colored crib (all 5 of my Little Women, each in their own succession, have known it as there own. Glory be!)… awash in that most precious, magical—dare I say, mystical—light that glimmers about a space when a wondrous tale is told aloud.

I was fully engaged in this riveting story, bringing the characters to life with the inflections of my voice, exaggerated expressions of my face and the flailing about of my book-less arm when all of a sudden…

There they were. Harmful words. Etched upon the ivory page with ink black as the night sky. And everything in me wanted to scream… to cry scalding tears… so much so that the flow of them would lift the very imprints off the page… draining down into a muddy, murky puddle upon the floor.

I remember the anger that began to seethe within me, the sinking feeling in my stomach, the rising of my heartbeat and the stumbling over my words. It was unexpected, so piteously out of place. So… personal.

But I was helpless. What unfolded before me had indeed happened before, several times over throughout the course of my own childhood education.

But this was different.

These were my babies. My beautiful, mixed babies. Skin a deliciously warm brown… heads full of bellowing curls.

Image bearers.

I couldn’t pretend that it didn’t happen. But I just. Didn’t. Know. What. To. Do.

But thankfully, all these years later, by God’s grace and the generous wisdom of other mothers of color, I have slowly found my way!

This is why I’m passionate about diversity in education. I long to help other mamas find their way!