Total pages in book: 159
Estimated words: 149301 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 747(@200wpm)___ 597(@250wpm)___ 498(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 149301 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 747(@200wpm)___ 597(@250wpm)___ 498(@300wpm)
Hands clasped, Kage leaned slightly forward, as if making sure she could see him. They locked eyes, and neither let go.
“Well, Huni was workin’ more hours due to her promotion, and she couldn’t rely on Joe-Joe anymore to always be home to watch me, once he started pickin’ up more routes on his schedule. So, she enrolled me in a daycare. Huni wanted me in a nice one.” She spotted a dandelion nearby and plucked it from the grass. “One with good staff, with all the bells and whistles. Clean. Offered nourishing meals and timely snacks. Educated the children, and let us play.
“She felt guilty for not being able to just keep me at home, but she didn’t have any family to watch me, so she did what she could. She wanted me to have a chance.”
Kage nodded in understanding. His hair swung forward, covering his ice blue eye. He pushed it away with a slow movement of his fingers, never once breaking his stare.
“So, there I was, the only Black child in this White daycare center that offered preschool. A really fancy, expensive one. I only know that ’cause I overheard Huni talking about it from time to time with other adults. Me being the only Black child in there didn’t bother me none.” She laughed dismally. “I was practically a baby. Six or seven. Kids don’t see color until an adult brings it to their attention.” Her eyes narrowed on him, and she tried to control the volume of her voice. “You agree with me?”
“Baby, it don’t matter if I agree with you or not.”
“Yeah it does. ’Cause it’s part of this situation I’m ’bout to lay on you.”
“No, it don’t. And the reason it don’t is because that’s your opinion, and you’re entitled to it. Whatever that opinion may be.” He snatched the dandelion from her hand and ate it, amusing and shocking her at the same time. “I want to make it perfectly clear that you can feel however the hell you want to feel about anything and everything. I’m not the gatekeeper of your thoughts and beliefs. The way I feel about it shouldn’t be contingent on whether you tell me or not.”
“Kage, I get all of that. I appreciate what you’re sayin’, but I still want to know your thoughts on this. Do you think children see color?”
“I can only speak for myself, but if I were to generalize, I’d say that usually, they don’t. So, I’d agree with you, to an extent. See, when I was child, I noticed people came in different shades. Hair color. Features. Eye colors, too. I realized early on that most Black people didn’t have blue or green eyes, or light colored hair. I saw these differences, and nobody told me shit.” He turned away, spit, then faced her again. Noora Noor’s, ‘Forget what I said’ was playing now. “My mama didn’t have to bring it to my attention. I brought it to my own attention.
“My mama never talked to me about race at all, actually. I saw she had different friends and what not that would come over to the house, and so I realized early on, that we were all God’s children. I still had a curious nature, though. Like, I’d wonder why my friend Doug—a lil’ mixed boy—his daddy was Black, his mama was White, was a sorta golden color, and his hair sandy brown ’nd curly. And why was the lunch lady at my kindergarten talkin’ with an accent, and her eyes kinda slanted? I didn’t think nothin’ was wrong with these differences. They were just differences.” He tossed up his hands. “I didn’t assign nothin’ to it. I just found it interesting. I liked that we don’t all look the same. I thought that was neat.”
“You’re an artist though,” she said with a smirk as she plucked another blade of grass and twirled it around her fingers. “Y’all see the world differently. Your talent was God given, so what you’re saying makes sense to me. I think you’re the exception, not the rule.”
“Now that you mention it, me liking to draw may have played a part in it.” He shrugged. “I ain’t no big time artist, but I get what you’re saying. Never really thought about it, but, uh, until I heard one of my mama’s friends use the N word, I didn’t understand racism at all.” Her brow rose, wishing for him to expand on this story. “It was a guy in my dad’s clique… The Blood Demon motorcycle gang. I was ’bout eight I think.”
“That was the first time you heard someone call somebody a nigger?”
“To my recollection, yeah. My mama jumped on him quick, fast and in a hurry, though. She didn’t like shit like that. She told that guy not to talk that way ’round her child, or her for that matter. I remember the guy was tryna argue back with her, sayin’ they call themselves that, too, and she said that wasn’t no excuse, and that it was an ugly word, used by weak, insecure people with limited vocabularies. See, my father’s motorcycle gang had a lot of white supremacists in it, I guess you could say, but my mama swears up and down my daddy wasn’t like that. Said if he hated you, skin color didn’t have shit to do with it. Anyway, we’ve gotten off track. I want to hear the rest of what you were saying.”