I walked into my daughter’s school last week and discovered that she and her classmates had done self portraits. A fellow mom was happy to see that her son had glued the eyes and clothes onto his likeness with decent accuracy.
Me? I was pleased that, despite how easy it might have been to hand my child one of the many cutouts they’d created using white paper, her teachers took an extra moment to cut hers from brown. I was touched to hear that they’d spent time during their project talking about differences in skin color with the group.
To most people, this may not have meant much. To me, it meant that they not only recognized what made her unique, but they also celebrated it. To me, it meant everything.