Kenneth and Mamie Clark were married psychologists famous for their doll studies that demonstrated the ways racism seeped into the psyches of young black children. Their experiments tested perceptions of race, and their findings—that black kids seemed to prefer white dolls over black ones—were cited in
Brown v. Board of Education, the landmark Supreme Court decision that ruled public-school segregation unconstitutional.
Fast-forward fifty-plus years and you’ll still find how dolls can help demonstrate prevailing racial beliefs and assumptions. Our daughter—she of three races—is old enough to know that people are often categorized by certain physical characteristics but too young to understand all that lies beneath that scratched surface. And so when she picks up her favorite doll, the thought may cross her mind that her baby’s skin is darker than her own, but that’s the extent of it.
Olivia’s decided recently to bring her baby doll with her most every time we’re out, including to school (and restaurants). The other day, two teachers discovered the doll lying alone on a table and began searching for its parent. Olivia, seeing that her doll had been found, spoke up to claim her baby. “Is this really your baby?” the teachers asked. Yes, insisted Olivia. "Really?" they inquired. Yes, she nodded.
When I asked her to speculate as to why the teachers had asked her repeatedly whether the doll was actually hers, Olivia relayed that they were just making sure because her name wasn’t written anywhere on the doll. Of course…my sentiment inexactly. (I am prone toward cynicism far too often.)
It’s at a moment like this when I’m reminded of the preciousness of youthful innocence.
I’m not one of those environmentalists who attributes any abnormal weather occurrence to global warming—who am I kidding? I most certainly am that person!—but come on, this is getting ridiculous. I want to ask the deniers of science where our springs and autumns have gone. Tell them I’d like our seasons back, and so would our kids and grandkids.
Below is the view from our front porch this morning, a mere two days after Olivia staged an impromptu celebration for autumn at her preschool’s playground:
I realize that we are just a month away from winter’s official start, but the phenomena of winters and summers starting earlier—an observable result of global climate change—has effectively cheated us and the natural world of full falls and springs. A year without the four seasons is like listening to Vivaldi’s “The Four Seasons” without the spring and fall movements: it deprives us of the full sensory experience.
And so while I can appreciate the beauty that is the first snowfall of the year, it also has me recommitted to the cause for which I care so deeply. So remember: us treehuggers may be self-righteous and annoying as hell, but at least we’re on the side working to stave off global ruination.
