White privilege weightlifting

Grunting children are pretty funny.  I've taken my boys, age 2 and 7, down to the weight room.  Not as spotters, but just to keep an eye on them while I pound out the day’s stress on some cast iron.  It’s good for them to see a mother lifting weights instead of kitchen pans.

 

They fight over who can use the 5 lbs and who can manage the 10s.  They boast.  They strut.  They drop barbells on their toes and wince and whimper and then pretend it never happened.  Not so different from the grown-ups at the gym: preening in mirrors, absorbed with counting reps, taking themselves very seriously.

They gather around me and marvel at my strength as I bench the equivalent of their bodies.  They smooch my lips and giggle every time I come down from a sit-up.  They play between my legs as I squat and lunge.  Weight-lifting with small children is not for the impatient.  The reward?  I feel like Nike, triumphant and fertile.   The Greek goddess, not the shoe brand. 

Once we land in the kitchen for some ice-water and snacks, my eldest starts complaining that all the other boys in his class have bigger muscles than him.  He vows to catch up.  His classmate, whom I’ll call Jamie, has the biggest, he proclaims.  Jamie, it turns out, can lift “30 times” what he can.  Teasingly, I remark,

“Wow.  Jamie sounds like a superhero.  Are you sure he’s not a superhero?”

My son stares at me incredulously.

“Mum, Jamie can’t be a superhero.  He’s brown.  There’s no brown superheroes.”

Now it’s my turn to stare, shocked.  The ice cracks in my glass.  My son tries to fill in the silence by explaining his seven-year-old interpretation of the world the best he can.

“Mum, you know Jamie.  Jamie’s skin is dark.  You know, his skin is sort of that brown color.  Superheroes don’t look like that.  Batman, Robin, Spiderman, that badguy girl that’s like a cat, Superman, Ironman, they look like us.”

He starts rattling off all the superheroes he can think of.  I’m still in shock.  We don’t really watch superhero movies or play superhero video games at home, so he’s passively absorbed this from school, posters, TV commercials, wherever his little eyes and ears might have been when I wasn’t there to point out the gender biases or racial inequalities, or worse, when I wasn't even paying attention to them.  My librarian brain is on fire trying to name a black or Latino superhero he would recognize and I’m drawing a blank.  I’m ashamed to admit in that moment I can’t think of a single one.  I know they exist, but none of them have the staying power of Batman or Wonder Woman in the flawed storeroom of my mind.

How do I make good on this example of passive racism to my young children without diving into the entire sordid history of our prejudicial Hollywood and comic book culture; without making excuses for white dudes who draw comic heroes that they wish they could look like and comic heroines they wish they could bed?  There is no way I can comfortably explain black exploitation to a child his age.  But this isn't about my comfort.  How do I tell my innocent kids that the world isn’t fair and that even though Jamie has the best muscles in the class the media doesn’t celebrate his likeness?  There may be the occasional minority superhero character that pops up here and there, but they are rarely the star, the hero, the guy all the other little boys want to be when they grow up.  I realize for the first time how hard it must be to be Jamie in a classroom full of white kids.  In a world full of white superheroes.  

The whole episode makes me profoundly sad.  I vow to search out minority superheroes portrayed in a flattering light.  It sounds as daunting as finding well-rounded female supers that aren’t reduced to eye-candy or damsels in distress.  My first stop is to remind him of Frozone in the Incredibles, a movie he loves. 

What are your suggestions of comics and movies with minority heroes for an elementary audience?  What can we do to change this, so Jamie can see himself in the heroes our culture puts on its screens?

Medieval Mice!

Mouse Guard: Fall 1152

Ever wonder how mice travel from place to place without getting eaten or lost?  In David Petersen’s vibrant Eisner Award winning graphic novel, the first in a series based on the comic book with the same name (and fame), we are introduced to the Mouse Guard.  An organized band of fearless warrior mice, the Guard is made up of “escorts, pathfinders, weather watchers, scouts and body guards” intent on protecting their charges from danger.  The detailed endpapers present a map of the Mouse Territories (circa 1150) so that the reader can follow along as the cloaked heroes Kenzie, Saxon, Sadie and Lieam protect the town of Lockhaven from a megalomaniac mouse determined to commit treason.  Along the way they battle the shifting elements, as well as fearsome snakes, carnivorous crabs, and a (mouse) house-destroying fire. 

A variety of exciting extras follow the story, including histories of the main towns and a list of common mouse trades.  Appealing to any child or adult with an interest in history (Medieval or otherwise), anthropomorphic animals, fantasy role-playing games or comic books, this beautifully illustrated hardcover is an essential addition to any graphic novel or contemporary book-art collection. 

Mouse Guard’s only drawback is that Petersen’s intaglio and relief prints, highlighted with fantastic autumnal colors, tend to overshadow the sometimes awkward storyline.  The reader feels as if Petersen spent much more time developing the meticulous images and Mouse Guard world and less time on formulating a plot that does his imaginings justice.  Mouse Guard is so visually compelling that it is required to be presented in a graphic format (it would also make a terrific movie).  Very young readers might find the physically almost-indistinguishable multiple characters and limited dialogue difficult to follow and would be advised to pay close attention to the fur and cape colors of the mice, so as to not get them confused.  The text’s “old-timey” vocabulary may alienate some juvenile readers: “The axe itself was forged into being by the blacksmith Farrer.  His family having been slain by predators whilst weaponless.”  Most unfamiliar terms, such as “parapets” and “portcullis,” are discernible through their visual representations, if one knows where to look.  For these reasons, as well as the violent nature of the storyline, recommended for ages 9 and up. 

Warning: blobs of peach-colored flesh!

 

My Mom’s Having a Baby!
by Dori Hillestad Butler, Illustrated by Carol Thompson

This delightful watercolor-filled picture book reached #4 on the American Library Association’s Top Ten Challenged Books List for 2011.  Reasons for being banned?  Nudity; sex education; sexually explicit; unsuited to age group.  Seriously, “sex-education” is a valid reason for removing a book from the library?  You can challenge a book for wanting to TEACH YOU SOMETHING?  Or just because it is teaching you something about SEX?  And since SEX is a terrible, horrible thing (that we pretty much all engage in at some point in our lives and is required to perpetuate the human race) and HAVING A BABY is a very scandalous affair, I can totally see why this would need to be pried from the chubby fingers of every preschooler on the verge of learning the word vagina (the horror!).

Ok, ok, all sarcasm aside, this is a totally legit non-fiction book designed to help parents teach young children (toddlers to early elementary) where babies come from.  Taken in this context I find it to be VERY age-appropriate.  Elizabeth’s mom has just discovered she is four weeks pregnant.  She learns the baby is only as big as her tooth, but he has a heart and a spine and skin just like a real person.  There is a super cute drawing of a maze-like umbilical cord delivering snacks and yummy food right to the baby’s belly (ice cream, carrots, and broccoli, oh my!) with an excellent explanation of how the baby is protected by a special sack of water and fed food and oxygen through this “twisty tube.”  Butler makes sure to explain all the aches and pains and grumpiness of pregnancy in a way that children can understand and not take personally.  Most children are frightened that something dreadful and dangerous is happening to their precious mothers, and this book can help put them at ease.

When Elizabeth wants to know how the baby got inside the belly her mom says, “It takes two people to make a baby.  A man and a woman.  Children can’t make babies.”  That’s a good point!  There are a lot of small children walking around with the misconception that you can spontaneously become pregnant through your belly button (no thanks to the Bible) or that you may stumble upon infants while walking among the cabbages.  Thompson’s simple drawings are designed to illustrate the basic difference between male and female reproductive organs.  The nudity is far from titillating, as the genitalia are mostly harmless blobs of peach made to represent flesh.  The most “shocking” passage is the actual description of the sex act: “The man puts his penis between the women’s legs and inside her vagina.  After a while, a white liquid shoots out of the man’s penis and into the woman’s vagina.  The liquid is full of millions of sperm.  They swim up the woman’s vagina, through her uterus, and into one of her fallopian tubes.” 

I gave a similar explanation to my five-year-old (minus the drawings) when I was pregnant with his baby brother and he asked me how Oliver “got into my tummy.”  He wasn’t frightened or damaged and has yet to start lusting after anyone on the playground.  A quarter century ago my own mother gave me a similar explanation, as well as some horribly illustrated book from the late-seventies about the “facts of life.”  I tucked the hardback behind my shelf full of more respectable fiction and only pulled it out when I could be absolutely sure no one would barge in on me.  My male cousins, on the other hand, would bribe me to steal my mother’s Reader’s Digest Medical Encyclopedia so they could sneak looks at the soft-focus pencil drawing of a wistful looking (and very-pregnant) woman reclining, her resplendent milk-breasts resting on her sensually sloping abdomen.  Either that or they actually wanted to look at the cut-away testicle illustration, also a real beauty.  My point is, children will learn about things when they are ready and curious, with or without our help.  Not only does it do a disservice to children to poo-poo their very real and mature questions with lies like, “the stork brought him during the night,” but it is ineffectual in the long run.  I would rather my child find out from me where babies come from than from his (often misinformed) peers, or worse, the internet.  And sometimes, even despite a parent’s best efforts, small children still mix up fantasy and reality.  I believed a penis looked like a tube sock (and could be stretched or rolled up like one) until I was about 13.  And let me tell you, 13 was a fine age to start that journey to growing up.  I really should send my Sex. Ed. Teacher a thank you note.

Dori Hillestad Butler, in defense of her work, has said,

Reading a book about a difficult, embarrassing, or unpleasant subject is a good way to open dialogue with your child! Even if you disagree with the values or the point of view in the book, it’s a good opportunity to share your own values with your children.  But some people just don’t want to do that. Some people would rather raise a generation of uninformed kids who have never learned to think for themselves.

She has put up with hate mail and cyber-bullying and being #4 on the ALA’s Banned Books List (which personally I see as a compliment) when all she has done is written a totally age-appropriate, lucid tale of a small family adding a new baby to the mix and dealing with all the questions that arise from younger siblings, something a million families across the world can relate to.  She has taken a difficult topic and approached it with tact and dignity and respect, both for the parents as readers and the children as listeners.  Because let’s face it, most literate children would be absolutely mortified to be caught checking out a book with baby penises on it from the library!  I think anyone who gets their nose out of joint by reading this book needs to get a handle on their own fears and insecurities before they start raining the fire and brimstone down on an author who is trying her best to answer the innocent question that makes every parent squirm: “Where do babies come from?”

Highly recommended (especially for those afraid of the word "vagina").

Underground

 

Underground by Shane E. Evans

 



A winner of the 2012 Coretta Scott King Book Award for Illustration, this thoughtful picture book is deserving of its fame.  I was extremely impressed with the artwork.  The theme of darkness and slavery giving way to freedom and light is perfectly captured by Evans’ textured and moody illustrations.  I think the simple text combined with the grave and emotional artwork strikes a nice balance. 
I question whether the story itself is presented in such a simple way as to be for a very young audience (say age 3-6), in which case, the subject matter may be too complicated for such a generalized explanation.  If it is intended for an older audience (say age 6-12) its text may be insultingly easy and considered “babyish.”  This is, in my opinion, its only fault.  I did enjoy the author’s note at the end of the book expounding on the topic and the author’s personal relationship to it.  A nice, easy introduction to a horrific, complicated subject.

Grandpa Green

Grandpa Green by Lane Smith

I love love love the artwork in this book!  The layering of curvy pen and ink tree trunks and minor details with the larger swaths and geometric shapes of green watercolor and oil paint foliage really works.  The illustrations make sense with the text and I like the intertextuality at play with Smith’s references to other classic picture books.  The story is accessible and relatable, everyone has a favorite relative who no longer remembers much of the past but is still bound to it by rituals, hobbies and passions.  My only beef is whether the artwork may be enjoyed more by an adult audience than a child.  My son didn’t seem to be quite sure what the story was “about” exactly, as there is no obvious plot or action.  A good one to borrow from the library, but not sure if I'd lay down the clams for a hardback.  Though I would sure love a print to decorate the nursery with!

Binky to the Rescue

Binky is a regular house cat.  He has delusions of grandeur.  He thinks he is a space kitty.  His house is a space station.  Insects are aliens.  You get the picture. 

What could be a boring premise actually turns out to be a pretty fun read thanks to Spires adorable drawings and "sound" effects.  Benji had a good giggle at the cat-farts and insults: "Fuzzbutt!"   But he's four. 

This is part of Spires' ongoing Binky series, and this time our flatulent hero has been called to rescue his beloved pet mouse from deep space (the yard) and the evil destroyers (some wasps).  While not exactly riveting, it was a good time, and definitely was requested a second evening before bed.  A nice edition to a YA graphic novel collection at your school/public library but I wouldn't shell out any coin for the hardback at home, unless you've got a series Binky fan on your hands.