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Tuesday, February 5, 2013
Every February, I think about the trip my son’s kindergarten class made to the Science Museum of Roanoke Valleyentury woodcuts of slaves being tortured by their white masters. The little boy on my right was black, and I looked over at him, worried that it might upset him to see people who looked like him being hurt.
But I didn’t need to be concerned. Like most fascinated by the whips, clubs, chains and axes. He was bouncing excitedly in his seat and didn’t need any comfort from me.
Then I heard a sob from my other side, where my son was sitting. He was curled up in his seat with his arms around his knees, tears streaming down his cheeks.
“What’s wrong?” I whispered to him.
“I’m white!” he wailed.
I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry, so I just gave him a hug.
Sometimes, the most unsurprising thing about kids is how much they can surprise you.
of the boys, he had no idea of what the images meant and was
— Betsy Biesenbach
Weather JournalEarly mix, then ice storm Sunday