When Polimom’s Adorable Child (AC) was teeny tiny, she had such honest reactions to the world around her. I remember walking through our village’s park one day while some local teenage boys were playing basketball. One of these kids’ pants were falling down below his hips, and we were privileged to view his choice of boxers. It also had some real impact on his ability to play the game. (It’s really difficult to dribble, jump, and shoot when one’s pants keep hobbling your legs.)
She thought that was hysterically funny – and told him so.
“That looks really dumb! I can see your undies!”
Yes. Really dumb. I didn’t have to add commentary to that when she was three.
Today, at the advanced age of nine, AC tells me she wants to take hip-hop dance instead of jazz. Okay, I say. Tell me why. Her reasons are sound; she likes the rhythms and the dance form… so she dances hip-hop. Fine.
But we fight regularly over certain Houston radio stations that are playing “popular” music, including that same hip-hop.
The problem here, obviously, is the lyrics (have you listened to this garbage?). Furthermore, she sometimes thinks these days that I’m old and out of touch with her generation (there’s unfortunately some truth to that).
But Polimom isn’t shifting on this one, because I cannot, and will not, let the proliferation of stereotypical divisive crap pass – however artistically obfuscated. I have to tell her, honestly and directly, that “Ho” and “Pimp” and “Nigga” demean. She cannot reach adulthood thinking that the black community has somehow been defined by the garbage our politically correct society is tacitly approving.
It is dishonest to both the black and white communities to allow this to continue – because the media are selling us lies, and they’re damaging the American fabric terribly.
As a parent, it is incumbent upon me to tell my child the truth. If I want her to be able to judge people on their individual merits, then clearly I need to limit the societal stereotyping to background-noise. Otherwise, she will grow up thinking that her black friends are somehow different from that “norm” she’s inundated with in music, video, movies, and news.
So how does a parent get in front of this? What does one say about the demeaning slang, sexism, and divisiveness? Parents don’t have much of a compass in this wilderness (dang it, where’s that manual!!!?), so Polimom is winging it – and I’ve started by defining the terms she’s being hit with (and sometimes using).
A recent conversation in our house concerned the show “Pimp my ride” – ostensibly a program about restoring and customizing old cars. When AC one day popped the word “pimp” into an ordinary conversation, it was a real show-stopper. Polimom explained to AC the meaning of the word pimp, and (gratifyingly), she was horrified.
“Gross, Mom!”
Yes. Really gross. But these days I’m adding commentary.
We – the parents of kids young enough to still listen to (and value) our opinions – all need to add more to the conversations. There’s no purpose in boycotting television shows or calling the radio producers about this, because it doesn’t solve the problem. The media thrives on that type of controversy, and for all I know, the media may actually think they’re merely giving artistic voice to the “true” black culture and society in America.
But this mom isn’t playing along. I know better – and if I want my child to also have this knowledge, then it’s up to me to tell her. She isn’t going to learn it anywhere else.
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