Little V

I was biased from the first day I met Little V. He was three days old, and for all intents and purposes, he had already heard my voice several times in the weeks leading up to his birth.

And so, we grew together, from tummy time to octopus diaper times, to discovering that solids might be yummier than mama’s milk and winning at negotiation when it came to heading out of the house for outside play.

I had such an influence on Little V’s life that he seemed to have picked up an odd sound I make when I need to relieve itching at the back of my throat; most African women know what I am talking about. What really happens is that we tactfully use air to roughly pass over the back of the throat, repeatedly. I should probably just say it is a superpower, at this rate. Anyway, my sweet Little V may have picked this up, since, it appears, it is a foreign concept to Caucasians. But this is at two years old.

Anyway, as he grew, we found ways to communicate, and one of the things we needed to navigate was dirt. Without intending, I said to Little V, “bleah”, to indicate that, for example, the piece of fruit that has dropped on the floor was dirty. I had tried the word dirty and Little V had given me a clear “I don’t know what your problem is” signal. When I said, “bleah”, he threw back down whatever it was. Over time, he learned to simply not pick what had landed on the floor or ground.

One day, we had been playing in the living room, his brother attempting some alone-play for all of 5 minutes, when Little V noticed the one side of my pants had ridden up, exposing my leg. He said, “bleah” and I, stunned and laughing, responded with, “no, not bleah”.

But Little V was not sure what was going on. By his understanding the things that often fell on the ground and say got smudged, often took on a brown-ish appearance, perhaps resulting from the mix of dust and whatever else. Here was Little V wondering how the brown he was looking at was not “bleah”.

Now, part of what amused me was wondering about all the times he had seen my face and hands and if he had never noticed that I look different. Little V was almost a year and a half by this time.

Fascinated, Little V begun to roll up the other side of my pants to see what lay underneath. Another leg. But not just any leg. Another brown leg. Fascinating! He made a noise that sounded something like the vowel “u“, but with the mouth closed, and add an exclamation mark! He could not yet speak at that point…and whatever words I hoped for in that moment, were never going to come.

He crawled to my back and lifted my t-shirt…and placed his little hands against my skin and the sounds continued. He seemed to be enjoying his explorations. So I reached for my phone to take a video [over my shoulder - not easy], and hoping to share it with the parents later [I did]. Little V looked up and noticed I was taking a video and laughed, standing up as if to say, “In my defence…“ and when I took away the phone, indicating I wasn’t recording, he got back to the exploration.

I was as fascinated as he was, and together we were on a journey of discovery – he of this brown skin, and me of how children encounter a different kind of different.

Interestingly, before Little V was born, his brother had had a near similar experience, where my t-shirt had lifted as I reached for an item on the coat hanger, exposing my tummy. He said, “Cynthia, your tummy…it is a different colour.“

“Yes, it is…it is the same as my hands…“ as I showed him, “and my legs, and my face.“

He too had seemed intrigued, though not with a similar excitement as Little V. It was more like he was processing difference. I wondered what he was thinking. I wondered if I was his first experience of “black“ skin, though it seemed unlikely. Surely, not in this day.

He had a little frown, then a smile and we moved on.

Thank you for your time.

Note: I would like to include an interesting article from The Brink by Boston University, if you are so inclined to read further, that shares on how early children notice difference. It’s title is “If Babies and Toddlers Can Detect Race, Why Do So Many Parents Avoid Talking about It?”.