For some, a toy is just a toy; for others a toy can mean a whole lot more.

After a week of reflecting on the comments people have offered on my last post here, on my Wordpress blog, Welcome to the Dollhouse and on Anti Racist Parent, this is the best summary statement that I can give of the majority of the positions asserted.

Yes, there were those commenters who took my post to mean that since I didn't want my daughter playing with a hotel maid's cart, I was a classist who thought I and my child were too good for such work. Sigh... There were also those who felt that it showed elitism for a parent to hope that her child did not include hotel maid in his/her answer to the question of "what do I want to be when I grow up?" Again, sigh. These incorrect conclusions left me explaining a lot about who I am and how I see the world. In my family we do whatever job we have to in order to feed, house and educate ourselves. No work would or could be beneath me when it comes to putting food in my kid's mouth. This was something I struggled with initially with my dear AdoringHusband during the more addled early days of our marriage.

"I think I've decided that I don't want to work," he said to me sadly one day.

"Well do you want the lights to come on when you flip the switch?" I shot back. "If so, I suggest you find a job, any job, to contribute to this household."

But he gets it now, I can happily report. All work is its own reward. You do what you have to do to make it.

It also goes without saying that as much respect as I have for any job, when it comes to my child, my hopes are for greatness. I don't think that is unusual for a parent. My grandparents hoped that my mom and aunt would succeed and achieve in education and career in ways that they were not able. They did this and my grandparents were proud. My mom wanted my siblings and me to succeed and achieve as much as we were capable. We also managed to do this in our own ways and she was proud. And I want my daughter to be successful and happy, as well as achieving to her fullest potential. Though she is only 19 months old, my hope is that her fullest potential does not lie in a job that does not pay her a living wage.

Now my hopes and her desires might end up on different paths. I have no problem with that reality. But the net of my responses to these classist and elitist critiques are that a) all gainful employment garners my respect and b) it is not a sin to hope that your child achieves great things in life.

But let me get back to the topic of the toy cart. One of the funny buzzwords we use in our meetings is the word "learnings." What are our learnings from this meeting? someone might ask. I, until this job, never realized that learning could be pluralized. But now the word is stuck in my head and unfortunately for you, my readers, you are going to hear my learnings on this topic.

It seems people fall into two groupings (I would have used the word "camps" but that somehow seems antagonistic): those who see a toy as just a toy and those who believe that some toys can potentially carry messages. You've experienced both groups before. There are those parents who will give kids toy weapons without batting an eyelash and others who freak out that even a water gun will send the message that violence is acceptable. And if there are any men who are rolling their eyes at the last example, let me turn it on its head: how about when a little boy is given a doll and the father flips out about his son's playing with dolls and what that will mean! So you see, sometimes a toy is just a toy and sometimes its a toy with a message. It just depends on your experiences and your triggers.

Let me go a little further into my past so that you might understand why the silly cart jangled so much for me. My grandmother was a housemaid. My grandfather a laborer. I say this without shame but with pride. They had so little and did so very much with the little they had. They came to this country from the West Indies in an attempt to give their children more...the usual immigrant dream. They taught us that we honor them by learning more, achieving more and giving back to those still trying to make it. I achieved (and continue achieving) to honor them and their sacrifices. That is sometimes hard for people to get. I don't push myself so that *I* can have more...I do it because I still believe that they are up in heaven watching me and feeling pride and honor that all they did for us was with good cause.

They emigrated from St. Kitts and moved to the South Bronx. They were poor but they eked by. My grandfather eventually started a dry cleaning and tailoring business. But more than anything else, they wanted their two daughters to make it...to succeed and not have to struggle as they did. Education, education, education is your ticket, my grandfather drummed into my mom's and later my aunt's head. They demanded educational success. If mom brought home a B, she got asked why it wasn't an A. If she brought home an A- immediately came the question, where was the A+? They pushed because they knew what their kids were capable of. And then in the late 50s when my mother told him that she wanted to become a doctor, he didn't deride her, try to dissuade her or suggest she go into nursing instead. He promised that he would find a way to make it happen and he did. Even when her college advisers said that she should become a nurse and that medical school would be impossible or when his friends said that he was wasting his money educating a daughter because she'd just get married and waste the degree. Why did he go without food, heat, and medical care so that mom could get through med school? Because nothing would make him more proud than to see his daughter become one of the few black women physicians in 1963.

I was born in that same year, one month before mom started her residency. When I later started school, Julia was on television and as such no one believed me when I said that my mother was a doctor. She had to be a nurse because black women couldn't be doctors, I was told. Honestly, if Julia hadn't been on, I'm not sure they would have even acknowledged that she had to be a nurse. They probably would have said that she had to be the orderly, aide or housekeeper.  

And then as I got older, I was told about the limits of what I could grow up to do. My 3rd grade teacher said to my mother, "Well you may have gotten to be a doctor but your daughter is too stupid to amount to anything." How's that for a message to internalize? And even when I went to my guidance counselor in 11th grade and told her that I wanted to apply to Yale or Princeton, she looked at me and said, "You want to go to Yale?!" as if I had told a funny joke. Even after I got in to Yale and all the other colleges to which I applied, it was all because of affirmative-action, the other students groused. Nah, it had nothing to do with my straight-A average and off the chart SAT scores. No, that couldn't be it.

My experience growing up here as a person of color has been one where other people have expected little from me or have subtly or not so subtly tried to limit my strivings. There was a message that I didn't belong, wasn't wanted or needed to "go be among my own kind." Yet my family is who showed me that I should know no limits. This was not because I was better than anyone or was too good to do certain jobs. But because they encouraged me to reach as far as I could possibly go, despite those who might seek to hold me back. My family is why I have achieved what I have. Their support, their encouragement, their belief in my abilities was limitless.

But back to the housekeeping cart...you see, for many people who don't have my background or don't have this sensitivity, this is a simple toy that a kid would have fun playing with. Next week the child will have left the cart and moved on to butterfly collecting or digging holes in the garden. It is just no big deal. Or the cart is seen as simply a skill tool, something the child can use to learn about cleaning the house. Again, not worthy of the gravitas in which I am imbuing it.

Yet for this woman of color who is raising a child of color, the toy is a bit more complicated. It is more than just a mop, vacuum and trash can that we can use in the house for Mommy and me cleaning. It is a mini-replica of the cart used by a hotel maid or janitor. This makes me concerned about the messages (or potential messages) that my daughter might receive about herself were Mommy and Daddy to give her this toy. My family was just as vigilant with us when we were kids.

Take my mother, for example. Mom was absolutely nuts about nurse's kits. She absolutely refused to allow anyone to give me a nurse’s kit as a toy when I was a kid. If I went to pick one up, she gave me the stink eye (but you have to know my mom to understand that giving her kid the stink eye for something as minor as this was a perfectly reasonable thing to do in her book.) Now you know, I know, and she knew that there is absolutely nothing wrong with being a nurse. But my mom who was told too many times that she should choose nursing rather than become a doctor or was asked too many times whether she was the nurse (or housekeeping even, while sitting behind the desk in her office wearing her white coat) did not want me to  play nurse simply because I was a girl or a little black girl. She would not have it. The message behind the nurse's kit was something that concerned her. She saw it as potentially limiting what dreams I would reach for. I won't begin to tell you about the issues she had with the Suzy Homemaker crap though she did relent eventually and buy me my Easy Bake Oven.

I learned a lot about toys and messaging right at home and it has stuck with me. Luckily Zara is not old enough to ask for particular toys yet, so I've been able to studiously avoid giving her any of that princess crap. (And please no one remind me that her name means princess!) I'm going to hold off on as much princess/fairy tale stuff as long as I can. And when it comes time for her to get interested in that horrible Barbie (don't get me started on Barbie!) I might just have to start taking Valium.  

But in all seriousness, when I see little black kids in 2006 still choosing the white doll over the black one because the white one is better/prettier/more desirable, my heart breaks. I know that negative messages are still there, so I have to be vigilant about getting Zara dolls of all hues and hair textures helping her to see that dark skin and nappy hair is just as beautiful as the images she sees on TV and in magazines. I also know that though we have entered an age where we will have a black family in the White House, this does not mean that the biases, limits, and challenges faced by people of color have disappeared in a puff of smoke. I must be a vigilant advocate for my child and get her toys that ignite her passions and spark dreams of what might be, since I am sure there will be more than enough people out in the world willing to tell her what she can't/shouldn't/isn't able to do. For this reason, I could not buy my child this housekeeping cart. Even if she is unaware of it, I do not want to message to her that this let's pretend item is where mommy and daddy see her dreams reaching one day.

This may not make sense to everyone, but it doesn't have to since it is just where I landed. As long as hubby and I are of one mind on this, it's all good for our daughter.

Thank you all for sharing your thoughts.