As I looked at my granddaughter napping through the rear view mirror, I could still hear her voice from earlier that morning saying, “Grammy, I’m beige “ Zara had stated this in a very matter of fact tone. “What? What do you mean?” I replied. She continued in the same manner. “Well, I’m beige. I may get more brown. Tim is brown and for sure he will get more brown. But, Jon is just going to be white.”
As we had continued traveling on Route 3 west from Lyndhurst, to the Parkway south on that sunny Saturday morning, I had glanced in the rear view mirror. She was looking out the window. As we proceeded, she remarked, “The sun is getting in my eyes.” I smiled and handed her my sun glasses. She quickly put them on, sat back and crossed her legs. She can often look so serious while so young.
I listened intently as Zara spoke. I was searching for something to say. Her statements were totally unexpected. I had no idea what was in her mind or what led her to tell me her views on the color chart that represents her two brothers and herself. Finally, I said, “Zara, I agree that you are beige. Tim is a deeper beige, so maybe he is brown; and, yes, Jon is white. I love all three of you and I feel very special that you are all cute and I am blessed to have you: my precious beige, brown and white grandchildren.“
Riding together in the car, I never know what I will hear or become engaged in when I am transporting my grandchildren. It is always an experience that causes me to think about the wonders of their minds. For two years, every Saturday morning, I leave my home in Irvington to pick Zara up in Lyndhurst and take her to dance school in South
Orange. It is our special time. Our Saturday mornings are our chance to talk about many, many things. I am the designated driver of the car, but Zara, and sometimes Timothy or Jonathan, drive our conversation as we travel to and from dance class.
We went on to dance class. Zara had a good time. As I sat outside her classroom, I could hear the music and the tapping as she and her classmates worked on their dance routines. My mind was replaying our conversation. After class, we went to Uncle Donald’s (McDonald’s) for lunch and then I took her home. On the way home, she fell asleep.
Later that day, while I was waiting in the nail salon for a manicure, I picked up the August 18, 2008 issue of New York magazine. The cover was half white, half black with the word Race in big bold red letter. Also on the cover was a black and white sketch of Barack Obama and a smaller black and white sketch of Michelle Obama. After studying the cover for a few minutes, I flipped through and read three articles. Each of them dealt with the issue of race and what role race was playing in the pursuit of the presidency of the United States and in everyday life. Each writer was pointing out that race was an undeniable issue in this election as the first interracial candidate puts forth his platform and his views to gain the highest office in this nation. One writer noted that
Barack Obama was the first African-American to wage a serious campaign for this office. His lineage, including his white mother, was almost lost in the focus on his black heritage. As I closed the magazine and looked at the cover again, I could hear Zara saying, “I’m beige.”
My son is a deep chestnut brown African – American male. My daughter-in-law is a white, blond-haired, blue-gray eyed Australian female. My beautiful, beige, brown and white grandchildren are their children. For their parents and the children, ages 5, 4 and 3, race has no meaning – yet. However, when the time comes and beige and brown
will be replaced with black and white becomes a distinction among them because the youngest has mother’s coloring, I hold fast to the belief that the love they know and the nurturing they are receiving will hold them in good stead as brothers and sisters and as a family unit despite the unfortunate, negative beliefs too many hold in their hearts that race makes us somehow different and less, not simply different and equal.
Zara is right about being beige. Tim is brown and Jon is white. As their African – American grandmother, all I know is how much I love them and want for their lives. Until Zara told me she is beige, I had not thought seriously about their racial makeup. It will be a factor in their lives and as they grow up. We must be vigilant and support them in developing healthy perspectives. I pray we can all realize that there is some “beige" in each of us.
Mary G. Bennett is the executive director of Project GRAD in Newark. Posted January 2009.
