The color of friendship

I recently finished reading "The Help" by Kathryn Stockett. I really enjoyed the book, and it left me with two thoughts. First, I really wished I could have given this book to my grandmother, Mother Dot, to read. I think she would have enjoyed remembering the time period in which it was written, plus it reminded me a lot of her favorite book of all time, "To Kill a Mockingbird," which she read about once a month up until the time she died at age 98.

But, most of all, it made me thankful that I did not grow up in a time period, region, or most of all, family, that taught me that people were inferior because their skin color was different than mine. As parents, we are the most influential people in our childrens' lives. And what we say and do is watched, learned, and imitated by our children even when we don't realize it.

While reading this book, I realized that my parents were raised in roughly the same time period as I was reading about. They both spent all or portions of their childhood in southern states. Yet, they both managed to learn, and teach to their children, that a person's skin color does not determine their worth. I am thankful to my parents for this.

To be honest, I can never remember my parents having a conversation with me about how I should treat people that have a different skin color than mine. In our household, it was just expected that you treated everyone the same - black, white, or green, it didn't matter. My parents never had to sit down and tell me this, because that's how they acted to everyone around them. Unlike many of the people around them, my parents had no problem sending their children to an inner city school. And, that is something I am very thankful for. Because while attending that school, I learned that there are nice people, and not so nice people, in every so-called category (geeks, preps, jocks, rich, poor, whites, blacks, etc.). And that knowledge encouraged me to seek out friendships in places I might have been hesitant to do so otherwise.

Which leads me to another lesson on this subject that I have learned recently - not from my parents, but from my daughter. My daughter's best friend, Anna, lives around the corner from us. The two girls love each other so much, and it's so sweet to watch them together. Ever since Elizabeth was barely able to walk, as soon as these two girls saw each other, they would start running toward each other and hug and jump around together - and they still do. Anna is the sweetest girl you will ever meet, with a beautiful smile that lights up a room. And, she is black.

Here are pictures of the two girls from September 2008:






And again two years later at Elizabeth's 5th birthday party:





A while back, after playing with Anna, Elizabeth came to me looking very sad. I asked her what was wrong, and she said, "Mommy, Anna looks very different than me." My heart sank a little bit hearing those words. I was worried that she had somehow picked up on the world's view of their "differences" and it would taint the beauty of their friendship. But, I put on a smile, and asked her, "Oh, yeah? What do you think is different?" And then she sighed, as if it was hard to have such a dunce for a parent (come to think of it, it was very similar to the sigh I often get from my teenager!). She shrugged her shoulders, and in a voice that portrayed this was the most obvious thing in the world, she said, "Haven't you noticed? Anna's hair is curly, and my hair is straight!" I laughed out loud in relief when she said this. Then, explained to her that God makes hair in all different colors and textures, and everyone's hair is beautiful in its own special way.

To this day, Elizabeth has never once mentioned the fact that Anna has a different skin color than her. Instead, when she looks at Anna, she doesn't notice if she's black or white. She just sees her best friend.

Recently, Elizabeth and I were playing a game where I would say a feeling or thing, and she would tell me what color it reminded her of. Some of the answers were easy for her (i.e., blue = sad), while others were harder (i.e., proud). One in particular that stumped her was the word, "friend." (She ended up picking pink, because it's her favorite color.) But, later, when I thought about it, I realized that there is a better answer for the word "friend." To me, the color of true friendship is "clear." With a true friend, you don't have to paint yourself a certain color - they see you exactly the way you are, and love you anyway. I've had to learn this lesson the hard way in life on a few occasions, when I've found out that people I thought were friends really were not. But, it's amazing to me that my young daughter is the one who has demonstrated this principle for me most vividly. When she looks at her best friend, she doesn't see her as "black" or "white" - just as "Anna." And, that's exactly the way it should be.