"Did you like that palangi lady's house son?"
"What is palangi dad?"
"Palangi means white; she was a white lady."
"What are we dad? Are we palangi?"
"No son, we're Tongan; we're brown."
"Tongan?" he asks puzzled. He points to the brown stripes on his flannel shirt. "Is this Tongan?"
My family has a pickup truck they use as a utility vehicle. It is a 1992 Ford F-150 with mud swamper tires. It's pretty beat up, with rust marks along all the wheel wells, faded maroon paint and the seats have tears throughout with the foam protruding out where ever it can find sunlight. He handed me the keys and said if I could register it, I could have it. Gee, thanks I guess? I never knew how valuable this truck would become to me and my family. As a trade in, a dealership would probably point and laugh, and pay me just to take it off the lot. However, in my family, this truck's value far exceeds its Kelly Blue book listing. Because we use this truck to serve others and the road trips can be miles away, it creates a comfortable environment for my son and I to converse. This truck is invaluable as it creates a safe haven for me and my 4 year old son to contemplate life's deepest questions. One such event took place last month when my son asked about race and the dialogue that followed.
I thought very carefully about what I would say and the direction I would take this conversation. I realized that situations very similar to this play out around the world every day, between father and sons. This pivotal moment in my son's perception of the world and his own cultural identity were at stake. I had the opportunity now, as many fathers in this position have, to pass on ideals of bigotry and close mindedness, to fill his mind with poison and ethnocentrism and corrupt this blank canvas. OR I could use this opportunity to teach my son the beauty of the human race. To teach him we're all brothers and sisters of different shades and levels of melanin under skin tissue made up of 99% same DNA. And to paint a beautiful mural, on that same blank, innocent, canvas of all the colors in the world. No pressure though, it's not like I could turn this child into a racist by a simple misunderstanding or a slip of the tongue. It's not like his lifelong behavior and attitude about ethnicity rested on this moment alone. Wait, it does rest on this moment. I'd better take this time to enlighten my son, as his memory of our heart to heart conversations, were photographic.
"Son we're Tongan because Nana and Papa were born in Tonga, and they moved here a long time ago. The palangi lady's family comes from somewhere else too, but we're all the same. We're human beings." He smiled softly as he looked out the window in to the sky, as if he was being reminded of something he had known for ages.
I remember the moment I taught my son that we were human beings just a few years earlier. I never thought I'd need this crucial bit of information to explain to him what different races were. He was eating a bowl of cereal and he finished the bowl until there was nothing left but milk. He placed the bowl on the ground and started to lap the milk up like a cat. I told him to pick up his bowl. We are humans; only cats drink milk like that. Immediately I could see through his eyes, the gears in his head turning. Thus another barrage of deep, life questions began which lead us to our conversation about race.
As a father, it is a big day, when your child can come to you for answers to questions that he has floating in his head. It is comforting to know that he trusts you and feels comfortable talking to you about tough questions. The fact that I'm the only adult in the truck right now, and the only person who can answer his questions is not important. I like to think we have a great relationship and it will never change. Often I would take him to run errands with me so that we could have these conversations. I know that in the near future, quality father and son time like this will become scarce.
Now that I'm grown with a family of my own, I don't spend much one on one time with my own father anymore. Our conversations are now about my children and the issues I'm dealing with. Questions of parenting styles and experiences are the topic of our conversations now. However I can remember when I would ask my father questions to life's challenges and problems and I just knew that my father had all the answers. He showed me the value of teamwork and equal partnership in a marriage. Dialogue and conversation between father and son was welcomed, and he enjoyed answering my foolish questions of Who? What? Where? And Why? I feel this is why I am able to continue this type of parenting with my son.
My son and I are sitting in line, against the wall at Ray's Barbershop on 2100 East and 1300 South. We're waiting for my cousin Red, a popular barber here in the valley because of his skill in cutting designs using one's hair. My son loves to have designs shaved in the side of his faux-hawk and the attention it brings him. The barbers and patrons are predominately minority, as it takes a special barber and training to cut ethnic hair. Several flat screen TV's are playing a variety of major sports events. Pictures of special haircuts and do's and a photo album of famous people who frequent the Shop adorn and decorate the walls. A young black man in his early 20's walks up to me and asks,
"Are you waiting for Red?"
"Yeah, my son and I are getting fades."
"I'm gonna get designs in my head right here" my son points to the right side of his head.
The young man nods to Red to let him know his place in line, and takes a seat next to me. There isn't really a number system at the Barbershop, the Barbers just take a mental note of the order that customers come in. They can still choose which order they want to serve the patrons. Just as the young black man stands up and walks towards the vending machine, my son turns to me and whispers,
"Dad, why is he black for?"
I chuckle, here we go again. I would've never known that the questions this brilliant child asks would educate me far more than it would him. With each question and conversation we have, it makes me step back and evaluate my position on such topics as race, science and politics. My son has taught me so much, and continues to open my mind to the innocence he possesses and the excitement and positive outlook he has on the world around him.
"I love your truck Dad, its huge!" he doesn't notice the $60,000 2011 Toyota Tundra next us at a red light. He doesn't care about the rusted bedsides, or broken window knobs. He'll never notice that the radio is missing out of the dash which allows us to have these conversations instead of listening to meaningless garbage, some call music now. To him, this is the best truck in the world. I completely agree.
"Son, when you're 16, you can have this truck! What do you think about that?"
"That's a good idea!" He smiles at me from his booster seat, a foot away, and looks to the road as we continue our drive down I-15.
