An honest conversation on race with my two daughters
An easy Tuesday dinner led to a succinct but meaty talk that I’d always known would come.
I wrote the store below in 2017, during a walk to my car, after a daddy-daughters dinner, one of hundreds we had on Tuesdays and Fridays from 2014 to 2018.
“What about you, Dad?”
If I’d known the question being asked, I would have pretended not to hear those four words.
“I didn’t hear the question,” I answered.
“You never talk about race,” said my oldest daughter. “What are your feelings on all of the race stuff?”
I tried to buy some time, first pretending not to understand, and then, minutes later, realizing they were not going to let up, saying “in the truck. I’ll answer when I get in the truck.”
The 30 yards to the truck came fast, but not so fast that I didn’t have time to say under my breath, “I guess this Tuesday is as good as any,” words owing to the fact that I take my daughters out for dinner every Tuesday and Friday, like clockwork.
Same location: Central Market, Southlake.
Same meals: Chicken nuggets and fries for them; Asian salmon salad for me.
We’re so predictable that the entire staff knows us and the chef starts preparing my double order of salmon as soon as I enter the restaurant.
I cherish these Tuesdays and Friday, which are usually a time for raucous goofiness, math games, and incessant teasing.
This day was no different. Until we exited, and the girls, walking well ahead of me, jokingly recalled a conversation they’d overheard from the news of the previous weekend.
Something along the lines of racist incidents being on the rise over the last year.
Thuump! Thuump! Thuump! [truck doors closed]
“So, Dad, tell us. What do you have to say about race?”
I began with a “Whew!”
“I never discussed race with you, early on at least, because I hoped I wouldn’t need to. I reasoned that because you girls are growing up in a far different world than I did, I assumed many of the issues I faced as a kid, you guys wouldn’t have to deal with.
“But that’s more an excuse than anything else, honestly.
“I didn’t discuss race with you primarily because I don’t have good things to say.
“Because of how and where I grew up, in Mississippi, in the 80s, I wanted to make sure my kids never had to deal with overt racism from people who, to this day, feel that any black person is less than them — and will openly tell you as much.
“I knew you all wouldn’t deal with the things I had to deal with, but I really had my head in the sand with regard to how sticky race and racism are, and, sadly, not even you all will escape its impact.”
My youngest daughter interrupted me: “Dad, quit avoiding the question. You’re stalling.”
I continued: “I promise, I’m getting to the answer. Give me a sec.
“What’s funny is it was much, much easier to hide from these sorts of discussions when we lived in Florida, mainly because there was a lot more diversity and people didn’t seem to focus on differences.
“Here’s what I have to say: Does race matter to people — a lot of people? Yes, it does. There will be people who expect less of you because you’re a person of color. People might also think the worst of you, at least until they get to know you. But here’s all I really have to say and want you to know:
“The fact that race is an issue for others doesn’t mean it should be an issue for you. It should not be. Ever!
“Never allow how someone feels or thinks about you to determine any outcomes in your life, whether that’s your mood, your performance on a test, where you sit, where you eat, anything. That’s their problem, not yours.
“So, is race an issue for some people? Yes. But it shouldn’t be an issue/hangup for you.
“Let me say this one last thing and I’ll shut up: As a kid, I adopted a philosophy that served me well when it comes to ignorance and people who might not like me for some reason.
“It’s summed up in six words: The best revenge is living well.
“That’s why I always tell you both to believe that God has the best in store for you, work hard to attain it and never stop kicking a$$ — er, butt, even after you achieve your goals.”
Then silence.
“I understand,” said my oldest daughter.”
“Whew!”