Devan Sandiford - The Re-Education of a Black Father

 

A few years ago, I was sitting in the front of a kindergarten classroom with 26 little eyes staring up at me and I was so nervous. I was supposed to be telling a personal story in my son's kindergarten class. And initially I had been super excited. But then I had made the mistake of asking my 5-year-old son what story he wanted me to tell. Immediately he had a response. He said, "The kissing game story." 

 

And it sounds like it might be cute, especially coming from a 5-year-old who's got like this beige skin who looks like John Legend. [audience chuckle] But it wasn't cute at all. I was so nervous because this story had the most vulnerability that I ever had to give. It had race in it. I initially told him, "I'm not telling that story." But over a week he just hung his head, hung his shoulders and gave me the disappointed look. And finally, I just gave in and I said, "You know what, I'll tell the story. Forget it." And so, as I was walking and I got into his classroom, I saw the eyes staring at me. And I kind of decided that, like, "I'll tell this story, but I'm going to make some adjustments." [audience chuckle]

 

So, I sit at the front. The teacher allows my son to sit next to me. I start going into this story. It's the moment I actually first knew about race. I was in first grade. I was 6 years old. The kids in my class would play this game, cooties. And the girls would chase after the boys. The girls would chase after the boys all over the schoolyard. And then they would find them on the backside where the drinking fountains were and they'd kiss all over them. And I thought this was the greatest game ever. [audience chuckle] But it took me a while to realize that none of the girls were chasing me or trying to catch me. And as one of two black kids in the class, I would find out that the girls were actually afraid to touch me.

 

And as I was in my son's class, I decided as I tell this story that I would just make it a fun game story. I tell them about the lunch tables we run through past the recess yard on the backside. But when I got to the part about race and about feeling so alone, I just pulled that part out of the story. And I was like, "I made it through. That wasn't so bad." But then when I looked over the teacher, the teacher opened the floor for questions. The first two questions I'll never be able to remember. But the third question, I'll never be able to forget.

 

This little beige girl in the middle of the classroom raised her hand and she said, "Why didn't the girls want to kiss you like the rest of the boys?" And I was like, "That is a really good question." [audience chuckle] And I looked over to the teacher, hoping she would give me one of those magic, like, 1, 2, 3, just get through this conversation type of things. But she didn't. She just stared back at me and I knew it was on me to do this. And, as I was thinking of answer that I could give, I heard a voice from the back of the room. "It's because he's black." And I looked over, and it was this little half Asian, half white kid. And he had no meanness in it all. No malicious. It was an objective truth that he knew. [audience chuckle] 

 

And I was like, "Yeah, I should have known that somebody knew this." And so, I explained to the class that, "Yeah, I didn't go to a school like yours, that I was one of two black kids in the class." And we didn't talk about diversity or inclusion or any of that. And as we got through the conversation, I looked back over at the teacher, and now she gave me the nod that I was done. [audience laughter]

 

So, I get up and I hug my son. And as I hug my son, I start walking into the hallway. And it starts to land on me that my son had heard that story many times before. And I started to feel really disappointed in myself because by pulling out the race out of the story, I was pulling one part of the story, our identity, out of the story. And as I walked home, the weight of just, like, disappointing my son, disappointing myself, just grew more and more until it was the only thing I could think about. 

 

And so, later that week, I came back into the school. I was actually teaching a personal storytelling workshop to the kids from kindergarten to fifth grade, and I found the principal in the hallway, and I asked her, "Would it be okay if I share this story? I want to be able to just share the full story." And she looked at me and she said, "Absolutely. We never withhold the truth from the kids." And those words were, like, such a surprise to me because that's all I had ever known. And as I was getting ready to walk away, she was like, "But just if you can, just make sure you allow them to ask questions at the end." And I was like, "The questions again, my goodness." [audience laughter] But I was like, "You know what? I can do that." 

 

So, I walked into the art room where we were having the personal storytelling workshop that I was teaching. I started grabbing the stools and setting them up in a semicircle. And as the kids walked in with their backpacks, I let them know that I was going to be sharing one of my personal stories with them. And as soon as they all got there and sat down, I launched into my story. And all of them are staring up at me again. But this time, I gave the entire story. I talked about the details of the table, the scenery of the playground, the race, me being one of the black kids and the girls not kissing me, and how alone it felt to be standing there on the playground all by myself. 

 

And as I got to the end of the story, tears started to fill into my eyes, and I thanked the kids for listening. And then I had to open the floor up to questions. And as soon as I did, a bunch of hands shot up, and I scanned the room, and I picked this little second grader in the first row, this little white boy who had short haircut one side and long flowing hair on the other. [audience chuckle] And he put it out in his hand, and he said, "You know what I hear in that story? I hear a lot of pain. [audience aww] And it reminds me of the time." 

 

And then he went into a story about a time when he was playing with some friends and they had excluded him for a completely different reason. And as he's going through the story, tears are coming into my eyes again because I feel like I'm more connected with this kid than I've ever been connected with anyone in my life. And as he finishes his story, one by one, the rest of the kids who had their hands up, they each shared stories of being excluded from groups. And it's just this, like, warmest feeling that I had ever felt.

 

And by the time we got to the last story of the people who had raised their hands, we actually didn't have any time left for the lesson plan at all. But I was okay with that because I knew that I didn't need to teach those kids anything about storytelling that day, they had actually taught me that if we are brave enough to share the hard parts of our stories, that we can be connected with the people around us like we never have been before. Thank you.