Most museums don’t have multi-floor climbing structures running up their middle. Then again, most museums aren’t designed for patrons under 10 years old. But Port Discovery, the children’s museum in Baltimore, has a great variety of exhibits for kids of all ages. With Chris’s parents in town, we were lucky enough to visit the museum this past weekend.
Trigger warning: Racism, police violence, children in harmful situations
With the conflict coming to a head in Baltimore, a few people that know we live in Maryland have asked if we’re all right. Fortunately, we live nearly an hour away from the affected area. But all of the recent protests, stories of injustice, and tragedies have inspired a lot of thought in my mind, especially because we live in a historically African-American neighborhood. These stories have brought into relief both how much I don’t experience due to white privilege and my concerns for families other than my own.
Until the last few years, I wouldn’t have said I had white privilege. Class privilege, certainly – I knew I had loads of unearned advantages by being born into an educated, upper-middle class family. But racial privilege? Nah – I had black friends who seemed just as well off as I was. That was all solved with the Civil Rights movement, right?
Then I started reading, a dangerous action if you want to keep your misperceptions of the world. I read about how Lavar Burton – the host of Reading Rainbow! – had to teach his son to be submissive to the police. How a young man couldn’t bring a TV to his friend’s house in Dupont Circle for fear of being mistaken for a thief. How black women (and men) regularly have people touch their hair and bodies without asking. How the African-American community was barred for decades from purchasing houses by federal law. And of course, reading recently about the police brutality and exploitation against people of color in so many communities. In short, I started learning about how systems of oppression work, that class and race discrimination work both independently and hand-in-hand.
But it never quite got personal until I moved to my current neighborhood nearly five years ago. Early on – perhaps the first week I was here – I was walking to the Metro to a friend’s party in DC. I was bringing a six-pack of semi-expensive beer and forgot to grab a reusable bag. A few blocks in, one of my new neighbors spotted me and waved me over. They explained that I really needed to put the beer in a bag, as the police had a heavy presence in the neighborhood and would surely notice it. They kindly gave me a plastic bag to hide it. While I knew carrying a six-pack right in public was kind of gauche, I was pretty sure it wasn’t illegal and would have never considered getting police attention for it. The very idea that the police could reprimand – or worse, arrest me – for something tacky but legal, was both horrifying and incomprehensible.
Similarly, I was walking through my backyard in the early evening a few months later, when a cop yelled at me from his cruiser in the street. As I was just looking at the flower box on our shed, I was completely caught off guard. At first, I didn’t even acknowledge him, as I had no idea he was addressing me. He angrily demanded to know what I was doing there, while I struggled to explain that I was at my own house, still baffled as to what potential crime he was accusing me of. Apparently, he thought I was scoping out our shed to steal something, when I was just observing the sorry state of our flowers.
In both cases, I realized my shock was a huge sign of white privilege. Black people are uncomfortably used to having these interactions, driven by suspicion, on a regular basis. So many things I assumed – that I could peacefully walk down the street or in my own backyard – are assumptions people of color never have the luxury to make.
In the context of those experiences and the stories of so many, I don’t worry about my son and my family. I worry for the children in Baltimore who are missing their free lunches because school is closed and are instead watching their neighborhoods being taken over by martial law. I worry for the kids in hundreds of D.C. homeless families and the many risks they face, the potential of being lost forever to their parents like Relisha Rudd. I worry for the black and Hispanic kids in my neighborhood who go to the park alone, not worrying because their parents are neglectful (they aren’t), but because police have been calling Child Protective Services inappropriately in our county and they’re even less forgiving of people of color. I worry for the black kids in my church whose mom has to yell at them for running between the pews (after church) because she understandably wants them to respect places of authority. I worry that the submission to authority will become all too needed in their everyday lives.
So while I appreciate people’s concern, I ask for that concern to be turned elsewhere. If you want to help, the Baltimore Sun has a list of opportunities both for local volunteers and giving money to important community organizations. While education and books can’t stop systematic racism, libraries can offer vital community services and refuges for kids. The Ferguson, MO library accepts donations through their website. And of course, the NAACP has been working for racial equality and justice for decades.
One of Martin Luther King Jr’s less well-known quotes is: “Freedom is never voluntarily given by the oppressor; it must be demanded by the oppressed.” If we care about justice, about equality, about vulnerable children, we too must demand that freedom for all.
The ocean and its creatures are inherently weird. The act of living in water is so exotic that just considering it captures our imagination. I think that’s why so many kids want to grow up to be marine biologists, myself included. Visiting the aquarium is a peek into a world most of us will never be able to experience, a world about as accessible as the moon. Our trip last weekend to the National Aquarium in Baltimore illustrated that my fascination with the mysteries of the deep runs in the family.
We visited the Aquarium last year around the same time, but Sprout’s enjoyment of it then was limited to liking bright, colorful objects that moved. We hauled him around in the baby carrier and our arms, sapping our strength and limiting his view. While he was just starting to stand, he was still far from walking.
This year’s visit illustrated how very much he’s grown up. He did the entire trip this time on his own power, except the times we needed to lift him up to look in windows. My parents were with us and when my mom checked her Fitbit, she found we walked over a mile. That’s a hell of a lot of steps for a 20 month old! He also had far more comprehension of what he was seeing. These days, he’s regularly identifying all sorts of animals, from birds to bears. When reading his books, from Baby Beluga to Penguin in Love, we’ve learned about fish, puffins, dolphins, whales, and crabs. So the residents of the aquarium were far more than just pretty shapes for him.
We started in Australia’s swamps, moved on to the Great Barrier Reef, hit the bays of America, explored the Amazon rainforest, visited the shark tank and big reef tank and ended with the dolphins.
Of all of the animals, I think the turtles and sharks were his favorite. He stood at the turtle tank in Australia for quite a long time, following them back and forth with his head as they swam in circles. He just stared saying “turtle,” so I think he’s fond of them in general. The sharks certainly held his attention, although I think they frightened him a little. He knew a wall separated them, but still shuddered the few times they glided past him next to the glass. Oddly enough, he also liked the electric eel. I suspect it looked and moved unlike anything he had ever seen. While the giant reef tank impressed him just as much as last time with its endless array of fish and sharks, the dolphins couldn’t sustain his attention. I suspect a combination of tiredness and the dullness of their tank rendered them less engaging than I expected.
Sprout also had great enthusiasm for the non-animal, mechanical elements of the aquarium. Several times he ran up to the many escalators and people-movers that criss-cross the building. When we got off them, we had to rapidly redirect his attention so we wouldn’t descend into Whine-O-Rama.
While I spent most of my time watching Sprout, some of the other children offered substantial entertainment value as well. A little boy in the Australia exhibit, barely through the door, started rolling up his pants to splash in a puddle. His grandmother sighed and shook her head while the aquarium docent helpfully commented that it is meant to be a multi-sensory exhibit. In a room with tall columns filled with bubbling water, we heard one concerned parent plead, “Don’t lick the bubbles.”
We would have thought Sprout worked up an appetite with all of that walking, but it was a Picky Eating Day. Upon a co-workers’ recommendation, we decided to check out Family Meal by Brian Voltaggio. While I thought his fancy, small plates restaurant Range was overpriced and overhyped, I wanted to see how he addressed the complete opposite end of the spectrum. To almost everyone’s enjoyment, it was excellent. The food was reasonably priced – pricier than an Applebees or Friendly’s, but no more expensive than our Silver Diner nearby – and absolutely delicious. The only one who didn’t appreciate it was Sprout. Instead, he used his fries and grilled cheese sandwich for the exclusive purpose of acting as a vehicle for ketchup. When one fry broke off in his mouth after multiple dippings, he pulled it out of his mouth and handed it to my dad. Thanks, sweetheart.