Several years ago, I hired a college student to babysit my daughters for two hours every weekday. I suggested that she walk them down to the park when the weather was nice or color, do crafts, and read to them when it wasn’t. I planned to use the time to make calls, go out on interviews, and write my newspaper column. The sitter had come with stellar recommendations, was a capable and sunny person, and – as a bonus to me – she was able to walk to our house from her dorm.
However, I knew almost from the start that it wasn’t going to work out. When she met four year-old Isabel, my daughter by birth, and Mia, my two year-old daughter by adoption, she told Isabel she was adorable and gave her a little tickle and then commented on Mia’s dark skin and hair.
“Oh, she’s so dark,” she said. “My black friends talk about getting all ‘ashy.’ Does she ever get ashy?”
I ignored her comment, chalking her fascination with Mia’s skin to first day nervousness. But the next day was the same – she warmly greeted Isabel, told her how cute she was, and then spoke of Mia as if she weren’t there.
“Look at that tan line. Wow – she is so dark.”
Day three was the same. “Does her head get really hot in the sun? I mean with all that black hair?”
I was officially annoyed. “You know,” I said, “I don’t blame you for being taken with how beautiful Mia is, but there’s much more to her than her good looks. She’s so much fun and she loves to draw. So does Isabel. Why don’t you three get to work on a project?”
The sitter took a breath and started to speak, but then stopped herself. I knew that she was about to correct me and tell me that she didn’t mean to imply that Mia was beautiful. She just couldn’t get over her difference. That pitch black hair. That deep brown skin.
In a recent Huffington Post article called “How to Talk to Little Girls,” author Lisa Bloom says that when she meets a young girl, she restrains herself from saying the first things that jump to mind.
When Bloom recently met a friend’s adorable little daughter, she said she “wanted to squeal.”
“Maya you’re so cute! Look at you. Turn around and model that pretty ruffled gown, you gorgeous thing.”
But Bloom didn’t say any of that, despite the urge to do so. Instead she spoke to Maya about books and writing. She shook the little girl’s hand and told her it was nice to meet her. (Bloom doesn’t say it, but she greeted little Maya the way she might have greeted her friend’s child had the child been a boy. She treated the child with respect, like a dignified person with gifts and interests.)
“Teaching girls that their appearance is the first thing you notice tells them that looks are more important than anything,” Bloom writes. In her book Think: Straight Talk for Women to Stay Smart in a Dumbed-Down World, she links the way we speak to little girls with the fact that “American women are increasingly unhappy.”
“What’s missing?” Bloom asks. “A life of meaning, a life of ideas and reading books and being valued for our thoughts and accomplishments.”
When I read Bloom’s Huffington Post piece, I remembered that babysitter from long ago. She signified to my older daughter that she was likeable and worthy of affection because she was cute. And to my Mia, she made it plain that when she looked at her, all she saw was difference. I didn’t like either reaction so, before the week was up, I let her go.
I knew I’d hit pay dirt with the next sitter I hired. On her first day with my daughters, she came into the house, glanced at the girls, and said, “Do you like to play pirates? I do!”
Jennifer Grant’s memoir, Love You More: The Divine Surprise of Adopting My Daughter, will be published in August by Thomas Nelson publishers.
