What Color Am I?

In the hectic first few moments of our day recently, the clamor of seven voices competing for my attention melded into the lone voice of one.  “Mrs. Dahl,” he began, “This morning when I was looking in the mirror, my skin looked darker. “  Now he had my attention.  “I think I’m changing colors.”  I stared at my very European white student for a full ten seconds before speaking.  I thought maybe he was joking.  After the stare down I realized he was completely serious.  Now I had to clarify what I had just heard.  “Do you mean,” I said slowly,  “that you think you’re turning into an African American?”  I waited for him to confirm what I couldn’t believe I had just heard.  A solemn nod in the affirmative, “yes.”  Now he waited for my reaction.  His eyes never left mine and I could tell he was completely serious, his brow furrowed in consternation.

I had to put some effort into matching my tone to his.  Believe me, it was an internal fight.  Every muscle in my face wanted to break into a smile.  I so wanted to laugh at the mental image of him staring at himself in the mirror, thinking his entire identity was metamorphosing into another color and race.  But now I turned my attention to him because he had asked a serious question and he wanted an equally serious answer.  He wanted to know if such a thing were possible.  He would take my word on the matter as gospel.   I couldn’t be dismissive with trite laughter and tone.  He was all business and so must I be.  I called him by name and smiled (not too broadly I hoped).  “It’s impossible to change skin color.  The color of skin you are born with is what you’ll keep for the rest of your life.”  It took a moment for this news to sink in.  “Oh,” was his only reply.  No sign of relief or disappointment, just acceptance of my statement.  He turned and immediately immersed himself in conversation with a classmate.  It was over.  As quickly as it had come up, it ended. 

Oh, the funny, funny things kids think and say!  Can you imaging such a thing?  I’ve thought quite a lot about that short conversation.  It has caused me to go down some “what if?” pathways.  What if that WERE possible?  What if one day out of the blue, you looked in the mirror and found your looks changing into another race and color, and everyday thereafter the changeover became a little more pronounced until the day you looked at your reflection and saw Asian or Native American or African American?  What if your naturally curly hair became straight or your straight hair curly?  What if your dark skin became porcelain-white?  What if the very traits you have mocked in others now stared back at you in the mirror?  What IF???  Preposterous, you say.  Yes, but let’s just think about that for a minute…

Just maybe there would be more empathy and less ridicule.  Maybe less arrogance and more attempts to understand.  Maybe a kinder and gentler society.  I don’t know…maybe not…but MAYBE.  If I knew I might one day find myself becoming like my neighbor or a coworker, I MIGHT just treat them with more care and respect.  What if  “walking in someone else' shoes” really meant those shoes would eventually belong to you? 

I was intrigued by my little darling’s reaction to the news he couldn’t possibly become a man of color.  I really don’t think the idea of becoming black was all that alarming to him.  Jesus Christ said a little child would lead us.  Maybe we should all take our cue from my seven-year-old chameleon.