Last week there was a post on our neighborhood app from a guy looking for advice for homeschooling his 9th grader who had fallen in with the wrong crowd at our local high school. Several others joined in and shared his sentiments about how disappointing the school had been. My heart went out to him, and I reached out to help, but the whole exchange reminded me of a conversation at our neighborhood pool this summer.

We moved into this neighborhood, from a nearby town, in late March so when the pool opened in May it was our first time meeting many of the neighbors. My kids were on swim team, so I had the pleasure (ahem) of sitting poolside for hours every single weekday for six weeks straight. Usually, I started off alone but would soon be engaged in conversation with a new-to-me neighborhood mom.

During one of these poolside chats, the mom (let’s call her “Debbie”) welcomed me to the subdivision and asked where I’d moved from and where my kids had gone to school before the move. I told her that they are homeschooled.

Then the conversation took an interesting, but not shocking, turn…

Debbie: Well I bet you’re excited that you don’t have to homeschool anymore now.

Me [confused]: What do you mean?

Debbie: Because now you’re in a triple-threat neighborhood so there’s no reason to homeschool.

Me [more confused]: What is a triple-threat neighborhood?

Debbie [incredulous]: You don’t know? My goodness! That’s the main reason families are fighting to get in here. It’s a neighborhood that has a 9 or 10 elementary, middle, and high school – a TRIPLE threat. A home run! And the elementary school is STEM-certified. With a garden!

Me [deciding whether to open my mouth or just smile and nod]: Ohhh, okay. I’ve never heard that term. The garden does sound really nice. I’m still going to homeschool my kids though.

Debbie [about to fall out of her chair with a look of horror]: But whhhyyy?  Like why would you still homeschool? Why did you move here then?

Me: We moved here for the big creek, lakes, walking paths, wildlife, and trees. Especially the trees. {And news flash: I actually like my kids.}

Debbie: [stunned silence]

And at this point I probably should have just stopped speaking, but I wanted to help educate her on my reality.

Me: And actually, those school ratings don’t mean very much to us beyond enhancing our resale value. In fact, if we were going to put our kids in school, we would move away from here because the “triple-threat” schools are nearly all white, and they are not safe spaces for my children. I know what it’s like to be the only one, and I would never do that to them. {And we have a garden at home!} <<< I didn’t say that last part because it’s snarky. True, but snarky.

Debbie [so confused that she cannot speak]: Oh.

Yeah.

Oh.

I wasn’t upset with Debbie because you don’t know what you don’t know, but I do get tired of people not getting that it’s not the same for everyone. Clearly, it was new news to Debbie that there could be someone alive who doesn’t consider these “great” schools to be the cat’s meow. She couldn’t understand that the neighborhood’s commitment to preserving nature and the natural beauty of the property would be a big enough draw for us.

And she also didn’t realize that the stuff she’s thinking about doesn’t phase me. My kids’ test scores would be the same no matter which school they attend – not because they’re brilliant, but because being around lower-income (read: “black and brown”) children isn’t going to suddenly make my kids under-perform. My home and community outside of the elementary school building have more STEM-based exploration and learning opportunities than my kids can even wrap their minds around. And all of my kids aren’t even head over heels in love with STEM everything; some of them like other stuff more. {GASP} And they’re always digging and planting things anywhere they find a patch of earth and a seed.

Debbie didn’t get that I also consider the schools to be a triple threat – a threat to all three of my school-aged children.

But most importantly…

She didn’t understand that my home is a safe place for black children. They are safe from the constant questions (Yes, there actually are such things as dumb questions). Safe from the stereotypes. Safe from the assumptions. The micro-aggressions. The lower expectations. The higher expectations. The curriculum. The books. The pictures in the books. The pictures on the wall. The ignorance. Debbie’s kids. The racism – overt and otherwise.

Some will say that my kids need to learn how to deal with these things. They need to develop grit. I’ve heard that all before, and I understand the point, but the premise is flawed. As this article states, “That’s a bit like saying that it’s a cold, cruel world so your child should learn to sleep without blankets.” Now doesn’t that sound kinda silly?

My kids are developing grit…

Your child will naturally develop the ability to handle increasing amounts of frustration and anxiety as he attempts more difficult challenges. But those frustrations are inherent in growing up and are guaranteed aplenty in life. There is no benefit whatsoever to setting your child up for extra frustration or negative experience. In fact, he will see your doing so as evidence of your lack of caring, which is always translated in his mind as his lack of value, and which therefore undermines his confidence.

Laura Markham, Ph.D. (Peaceful Parents, Happy Kids)

In other words, learning to endure and persevere through hatred, indifference, and conscious or unconscious bias doesn’t require practice. You can pretty much figure out how to feel bad in a day or so.

Do I need my kids to be called a nigger or “brownie” so they’ll be prepared to hear it when they’re older?

Do I need my daughters to be shamed for their amazing fuzzy kinky curls because an employer may someday tell them that their hair must be “tamed” to fit the dress code?

Do I need my sons to know today that there are people who think they are anything other than incredibly freaking adorable, kind-hearted, and brilliant?

Do I need for them to think that black history is a separate subject?

Do I need the kids to happen upon a teacher who “just doesn’t like black kids”? (True story. And she still has a job.)

Do I need them to carry the emotional burden of being the only one in a classroom?

I think they will be able to catch up on the pain of being black in America when they’re older without a dry run. And trust me, they’ll get their turn. But for right now, I just want them to be kids. Splashing in the creek. Eating cherry tomatoes in the hammock. Catching lizards. With a Big Hair, Don’t Care attitude.

Some may call it a bubble.

I call it love.