the conversation

The birds are trying to get in. There is a little red cardinal peeping at me from across the apartment, through a thin layer of screen. It’s me and him. And the girls watching TV. Hi, hello, hi. Now, he’s gone.

Afternoon checklist:

iced coffee, a chunky piece of quartz, nosy cardinal, fabric pasta and salad, a to-do list left undone, PBS Kids (bless you, bless you), a brief conversation about our own whiteness and allyship.

Over a bowl of pretend food, I thought to myself: Begin the hard conversation now. And I did. What do you know about injustice? and the words floated into the air like a red balloon, and almost out the open window before Pia grabbed hold of one.

She said one thing she remembered was that a long time ago, Jackie Robinson was invited to a birthday party and when he got there, it was all white people and they wouldn’t let him in (I believe this story is from a Xavier Riddle and The Secret Museum?).

And Harriet Tubman, Maewyn added.

Yes, yes. So they were being treated unfairly, right? Only because of the color of their skin. It’s not fair at all. Well, I will tell you that even though those things feel like they were from a long time ago, they are still happening.

No!, their brows furrowed, suddenly standing, both arms beside her, hands in fists. I thought they stopped!, Maewyn says.

Nope.

A silence.

Ok, so I wanted to tell you about two things that happened over the weekend that are just examples of things that happen all the time.

I kept the details vague, but explained the facts. I told them that grown-up black men get picked on, hurt and sometimes killed because of their skin. I storytold the Central Park interaction with relish, taking my time, they were riveted. I left out the part about the dog. I focused on the fact that because this white women had the power in the situation, she could point her finger — I pointed mine at them — and use her whiteness to scare someone, on purpose. That’s not right!, they call out. When they cheer after I tell them she lost her job, I remind them that’s not really the point. The point is that your power is to be used for walking alongside your classmates at school, when that finally happens again, protecting them, because we are so protected.

This is part of a longer conversation, I said, picking up yellow yarn pasta and putting it back onto the plate. Imperfect, awkward, unfinished. We will keep talking about this. We have to.

Pretend that I’m coming into the restaurant and you say hello, Pia says. The play continues.