On the 11th day of Christmas my true love gave to me:

…….a doll that looks like me.  Christmas: a time for showering the little people in our lives with toys and all that their hearts desire.  This can give adults with so much joy, but it can also produce gut-wretching angst when you can’t find a doll for your little brown girl that looks like her.

*Most of my posts for this series of The 12 Days of Christmas have been fun and light-hearted, but I have been meaning to talk about this subject for awhile and it is something that many people struggle with this time of the year.  Roll with it, think about it and please add your two cents in the comments.

A couple of months ago–well before the holiday season–emails were flying on the Mocha Moms listserv about Addy, an American Girl doll.   If you don’t know about American Girl dolls, let me school you as I just entered this world last year when my daughter asked for an American Girl doll for Christmas.  American Girl historical dolls are based on historical fictional book characters; each doll comes with a set of books that highlights a particular segment of American history.  So I had to check out all the dolls and surprise, surprise  there is only one African American historical doll, Addy.

And Addy is a slave.

Of course.

This is what the Mocha Moms were emailing about: why does Addy have to be a slave?  Is that the ONLY part of African American history worth telling?  Oh, and when they saw Addy’s doll, Ida Bean (although I’m sure she’s historically accurate), Lord, the emails were flying fast and furious.

To be fair, Addy is escaping slavery and her story is a courageous and compelling one; all the American Girl stories show how the characters display bravery and tenacity often in the face of the most trying times in American History.  So, they are good books and the principles of the American Girl company are sound.  Let me be clear: I like the American Girl company and support their mission and products both philosophical and financially.  They also make modern-day “Just Like You” dolls that come in several shades of brown with various hair textures, so the lack of brown dolls in general is not in question; the rift is with the historical dolls.

So again we (“we” being me, my Mocha Moms chapter and I’m certain many African American mothers everywhere) ask: is slavery the only story that we have to tell about the African diaspora in America?  It’s not that slavery isn’t a story worth telling, it’s the fact that we are limited to just one story.  There is so much more.

What about the Harlem Renaissance?  Besides great stories about the art, music and literature of that time period, that doll would have some fly clothes for sure.  And what about the ’60s or ’70s?  There is a doll now, Julie, who is sort of a hippy girl living in Berkley California; couldn’t they at least make an African American friend for Julie who wears a dashiki?   That’s what I’m talking about!

I was not opposed to the Addy doll, but my daughter was not interested in her.  So here was the dilemma: do I let her ask Santa for a white doll?  Well, that’s always the question for African American parents whether it’s American Girl, Barbie or Disney Princesses dolls; are we going to let our daughters play with dolls that don’t look like them?

Of the people I know, for most the answer is a resounding NO.  I too feel that way, but my daughter does have many of the Disney Princesses, who up until Princess Tiana (bless her!), were mostly white (Jasmine is Arabian and Mulan is Asian).  I justified buying those dolls because they were “real people.”  Her Cheetah Girls dolls are Latina, African American, mixed race and white, so they’re okay.  And I think she also has a couple of random white Barbies; I don’t know how they got in there.  So, while my daughter doesn’t exclusively own dolls of color,  that is my strong preference.

She just got the new So In Style Barbies, which I love and think were long over-due, but whew!–those dolls have been controversial and they just hit the market.   The articles in Jezebel.com,  Essence.com, and The Wall Street Journal.com show what a hot topic this is for the African American community;  liking the Barbies or not is the main thread, but that we care immensely about the images that are reflective of our daughters.

Why?  Why do I prefer for my daughter to play with dolls of color?  After all, she has a mixed race background so it shouldn’t matter, right?  Wrong.  No matter what her background, she is a brown girl and everything in the world is telling her that she is marginal.  Including the toy industry.  It is up to my husband and me to tell her that she is beautiful and worthy; one of the many ways we can do that is by providing her with playthings that reflect her image and consequently boost her self-esteem.

Back to the American Girl doll dilemma last Christmas: what doll did Santa bring?  After admittedly a few strong suggestions from me, she asked for and got Josefina, a hispanic doll.   A compromise: not African American, but still of color.  I could get with that.   Both she and I love the Josefina doll; she has a rich culture which makes for good stories and beautiful clothes.

This Christmas she asked for another American Girl doll and again I subtly steered her towards dolls of color, either Kaya, a Native American Indian or Sonali, a modern-day doll who is the friend of a white doll, Chrissa.  I’m not sure of Sonali’s heritage, but she’s brown-skinned.  I’ll take it.

It is true that the toy industry has come a long way from when I was little when dolls of color were few and came in one very dark shade of brown, but they still have a long way to go.  As evidenced by the throngs of African American parents I see in the American Girl Store and the Princess Tiana dolls flying off the shelves, we are responding to the increase in diversity.  We have money and will spend it if given the chance.   Just give us the chance.

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The 12 Days of Christmas by Funkidivagirl

On the 1st day of Christmas my true love gave to me….the words to the song.

On the 2nd day of Christmas my true love gave to me….Christmas cards.

On the 3rd day of Christmas my true love gave to me….Chili Dawg.

On the 4th day of Christmas my true love gave to me…..a Christmas vacation.

On the 5th day of Christmas my true love gave to me…..Santa Claus.

Oh, didn’t you know that Kurt von Trapp wore dreadlocks?

For those of you not familiar with Kurt von Trapp, he is a 10 year old boy in The Sound of Music, which was first a broadway musical in 1959 and then became a movie in 1965, starring Julie Andrews.   The von Trapps were in fact a real family; although names and other details were changed, the musical and movie are based on the autobiography, The Story of the Trapp Family Singers, by Maria von Trapp.

The von Trapps were Austrian and the story takes place right before World War II, so are you surprised to learn that a von Trapp boy had brown skin and wore dreadlocks?   Not very likely, right?

Apparently not.   Not even in a high school production in 2009 is this thought even permissible.  The sentiment was made plain by a man who said to my son–fresh off the stage as Kurt von Trapp–”I bet they didn’t have many dreadlocks in 1938 Austria.”

This was overheard by my husband and I;  My son just smiled wanly and continued on his way.  I don’t even know if he completely heard the man, didn’t understand what he was saying or didn’t know how to respond. I mean, what would one say, “Thank you?”

Dumbfounded, I analyzed what I was feeling and why.  What the man said wasn’t racist per se and he could have even been giving a compliment (in a weird way), but yet the hairs on the back of my neck were standing up.  Why?  Thinking about it later I concluded that it comes down to this: that man was essentially saying that my son was in a role originally meant to be played by a white person–because I know he wasn’t just talking about the dreadlocks.   He did not say anything about his performance or experience as Kurt von Trapp, like “Great job!” or “Did you enjoy playing that role?”, but rather the focus was on his appearance as clearly not what a typical 1938 Austrian would have looked like.

Even in a high school theater performance, is it naive to think that we can be color-blind and focus on the ability of the person to convey the character in a convincing way and not whether or not they “look the part”?  My son gave a great performance as Kurt von Trapp–he was a von Trapp child.  In his first school musical he was cast as Winthrop Paroo in The Music Man, played by Ron Howard in the 1962 film version, and he tore the house down with his performance of “Gary Indiana.”

Thankfully that man’s comment was in no way indicative of audience at large or my son’s school.  In my research for this post I learned about color-blind casting–also called non-traditional or integrated casting–which is the practice of casting a role without thought to the actor’s ethnicity (I knew that my son’s school did this, I just didn’t know that it had a name in the acting world).   I would hope that all schools employ such practices, because after all a school should be a place of exploring, learning and growing.  I expect young actors to continue to challenge and change the status quo of traditional casting in theater and film.   There are already organizations dedicated to theatrical inclusion such as the Non-Traditional Casting Project and there are notable non-traditional roles that African Americans have played in recent years: Denzel Washington in Much Ado About Nothing and Julius Caesar, and Laurence Fishburne in The Lion in Winter and Othello, just to name a couple.   Grey’s Anatomy was created completely without specific character ethnicity, so the casting process was wide open; consequently it has one of the most diverse ensembles casts on a prime time network today.

I honestly don’t think that man meant anything by this comment.  I just think that he is myopic and uncultured.   The fact is that the world is becoming increasingly more diverse in the workplace, politics (hello Mr. President!) and culturally.   If a small high school in Atlanta can show a middle-aged white man that yes, Kurt von Trapp can have dreadlocks, perhaps his eyes were opened just a little bit wider.

*Check out these fantastic performances on YouTube:

“Do Re Mi” from The Sound of Music

“Gary Indiana” from The Music Man

I regret not having a 3^rd child.  It’s bluntly said, without any fanfare or fancy introduction sentence because that’s how I’m feeling right now.   Regret is a powerful emotion because it means that you can’t do anything about the situation, but live with it.  Well, technically I can do something about it—have a baby—but considering my husband is quite adamant about leaving our family just the way it is, it’s not really a possibility.  But I’m going to walk it out and let myself explore the possibility of getting pregnant one more time.

While I enjoyed being pregnant twice before, there are things that are not so pleasant: the weight gain, nausea, exhaustion and all the other mysterious ailments that bombard a pregnant body.  And let’s not forget the pain of childbirth, an experience really best forgotten or remembered through the hazy, rose-colored lens of time.

Of course once the baby is here there are the sleepless nights, leaky breasts, endless crying (both me and the baby), constant cleaning and the whole 24/7 of it all.  When would I find any time for me? It’s something that I have slowly grown accustomed to.  I like having the space to explore different parts of me; that would be hard to give up.   With a baby, my day would revolve around nap times, which of course the old saying goes, I really should be napping also.  As much as my mind thinks that I am 25 years old, it’s actually not true (are you as surprised as I am?); I would need to nap!

The truth is that I would be a different kind of parent for the 3^rd child because Gymboree groups and floor play are not as fun as they once were.   I relished those days when I did it, but there are only so many games of Candyland that you can play without wanting to bang your head on the table.  What I once found delightful and fulfilling does not seem appealing to me anymore; I can’t even romanticize it.  I like sleeping all night, wearing clothes free from spit-up and being able to take my children anywhere; naptime meltdowns or tantrums are no longer a threat.  I really enjoy the conversation and fun that I have with my children now.   The last few years of traveling have been so light: no strollers, sippy cups, snacks or toys needed.

Do you know what else I’ve discovered, by having a teenager?  Mothering doesn’t get any easier!  The infant/toddler parenting is physically exhausting, yes, but a piece of cake compared to the anxiety and worry that goes into making sure that you are releasing a decent human being into the world in just a few short years.  I think I know too much now.  It’s probably best to have children all at once—knock them out, as people say—before you have too much time to reflect on what an awesome responsibility you have undertaken.

These are sound arguments for being thankful for the 2 wonderful children that I have and not even consider having a 3^rd–and I’m sure that my husband can come up with many others.   Still I can’t deny that I feel regretful.  Now that I see how fast it goes—zoom!—I wish that I would have been more intentional about planning my family.

When I first read about the arrest of Henry Louis Gates, Jr. on Twitter & Facebook (where, I must admit, I get most of my breaking news), I thought that it was a joke.  As a former graduate student of African American Studies, I respect Professor Gates and laughed at the thought of him doing something that warranted the use of handcuffs.  However, after reading several legitimate news stories I learned that in fact his arrest was the sad truth.   Even sadder was my thought upon learning why he was arrested: “Of course.”   While I was shocked that it was Professor Gates, I was not shocked that it happened; racial profiling is something that many African American and Latino males have experienced.

Los Angeles used to be (still is?) a city that was notorious for racial profiling by the L.A.P.D. and it’s something that I witnessed first hand as a college student.  One evening about 10:00 p.m. my friend and I were driving back to his mother’s house.  He was born and raised in L.A., so well versed about L.A.P.D.;  he was purposely driving the speed limit and making complete stops at each stop sign.   Still, when we were a block away from the house he got pulled over by the flashing blue lights.  In my naivete I made a slight move forward to get something that had fallen on the floor and my friend pushed me back against the seat.   He knew what I didn’t: that move could have cost us our lives if the police thought that I was reaching for a weapon; they shoot first and ask later.   We were asked to exit the car.  When I began to protest, my friend shut me up with one look.   I complied because I thought if my Public Enemy-listening, not-afraid-of-anybody friend was complacent, then I had better be too.  I sat on the curb while they put my friend face down on the grass.  They searched his car (of course they found nothing), ran his plates and driver’s license (both clean) and then released us.  There was no apology, no explanation–nothing to explain our detainment except for the obvious.   It was a very scary and sobering experience.  And even more devastating was the silence from my friend on the way home.

How does a young man reconcile distrust of the very people who have sworn to protect and serve him?  Most African American males I know do not trust the police.  Even my husband gets paranoid if he sees a police car in the rear view mirror.  I tease him and ask, “Are you running from the law?”, but it’s ingrained in him to think the worst.   He’s not speeding and all car registration is up to date, but he knows that it doesn’t matter because it is all too common for a black man to be pulled over for absolutely no reason at all. 

Is this what I am supposed to tell my son when he starts driving in a few years?–Son, if you get pulled over, don’t talk back, don’t make any sudden moves and comply with anything because they will just as soon lock you up or hurt you than be concerned with your rights as a citizen.   Even when my son was a child and I gave him the “stranger danger” talks and told him to look for a police officer if he ever got lost, I cringed inside.  I knew that while I was telling him one thing as a child, there would be other instructions as a young man.

As professor Gates knows, racial profiling is not just limited to driving.   It seems that sometimes the diversifying of a neighborhood brings paranoia as well.  I can only assume it was paranoia that led the 911 caller who reported Gates to describe him as a “big black male wearing a backpack”, when in fact he is not a big man and was wearing a blue blazer.    My neighborhood has a crime watch email loop to inform each other of any criminal or suspicious activity.  While I appreciate the emails about criminal acts and truly suspicious behavior, the repetitious emails such as “there’s a hooded black male riding his bike down Hickory Street” are starting to get on my nerves.  

As Professor Gates says on The Root, he is but one man that this has happened to, one man in too many. The good news is that unlike many of those who have no voice, he is in a position to create dialogue, write essays, make films and in general call attention to racial profiling.  

Maybe then I can believe again in the “Officer Friendly” of kindergarten days.

keyinfluencer@funkidivagirl Just hit me with the reality check that my Work/Life balance game is not tight. Time to make some changes–Yikes

This was a tweet that my husband sent this morning…after the, ahem, “discussion” we had.  I imagine that we are not alone and it’s a constant battle for most people, balancing work and home life.   Years ago my family was featured on 20/20 about this very subject.  We got excited calls from around the country, “Hey, we saw you on television!”, but were they not listening to what we were saying on TV?   Yes, we had an adorable son.  Yes, my husband had a glamorous career.  Yes, we lived a financially comfortable existence.  Yes, we were on 20/20.   But it wasn’t good, our life.

At the time my husband was an executive at Columbia Records, a position that 3 years prior caused us to pack up our apartment and newborn son and move across the country from California to New York.   It was big move literally, financially and emotionally.  We were leaving friends who were like family to us and moving to a place where we barely knew a soul.   But with our plans for me to be a stay-at-home mom, a huge career defining position and double our combined salaries, we thought it was a golden opportunity that couldn’t be passed up.

To say our life changed overnight is an understatement; my husband walked off the plane in NYC and hit the ground running.   Adjusting from a work environment in Los Angeles to one in New York was huge; I like to say that people in L.A. try to work as little as possible, while people in NYC try to work as much as possible.  I’m being funny because of course people in L.A. work hard, but the culture of the city is also about enjoying the sun and surf.  If they can make the money and still make the beach before sunset, why not?   Back in L.A. a late night working meant about 8:00 p.m. and it was rare; in NYC it meant about 10:00 p.m. and it was often–then a bus commute home.   In L.A. we took strolls around the block after work and dinner; in NYC I never saw my husband before 11:00 p.m.   And I was alone, with a new baby, in a strange city, without friends or family nearby.

My husband adjusted to the grueling work schedule, I adjusted to to not having him around and sadly we both adjusted to doing our own thing.   He made a life for himself at work and I made a life for myself at home making friends, getting involved in the community and tending to my baby boy.   It worked, but dysfunctionally.   I don’t know how to get ahold of the 20/20 episode to show you, but we do not sound happy on there;  I talk about how resentful I am and he talks about how stressed he is.  It was a recipe for disaster and that’s what happened, disaster.

Fast forward many years to this morning and here we are again.    Trade NYC for Atlanta, record executive for digital media influencer, a baby boy for two active growing kids and it’s a different scene, but the same movie.  It’s still a struggle to make it all work, although as evidenced by my husband’s tweet, he’s much wiser for the wear and not willing to let us get very far off-track without taking action.  The fear of what happened before is too great and too real to take this subject lightly.

I’m sure we’re not the only family who struggles with balancing a productive and happy home life with building a career.  What does your family do to make sure that you are still connected and growing together, despite the demands of work?   How do you strive to give the best to both your family and your career without having either suffer?