What’s the Difference?
How Children Begin To Understand Race and Ethnicity

by Michele Owens-Patterson, Ph.D.
Early Steps Parent

One evening my sixteen month old, a frequent resister of sleep, played quietly on the living room rug.  At one point I surreptitiously (and against my better judgment) turned on the Cosby Show, something I enjoyed, but hadn’t seen in months since becoming a Mom.  When my sleepless one looked up, he moved very close to the television, seemingly transfixed, as he watched the images of the Huxtable family, with all their brown children who looked just like him. For a long time he stood, moving his head from side to side, as he followed their every move with his eyes.
  
Fast forward two years, when one night I turned on the television to watch the nightly news.  The last minutes of the Miss America Pageant appeared on the screen as my son, who was sleepless again, got out of bed and came into my bedroom.  Leaving my editorializing about beauty pageants for a later date, I explained that the winner would receive a scholarship. Among the three finalists was a young African American woman and I commented on how lovely I thought she was.  My son replied flatly, “I want the white one to win,” but a minute or so later the African American contestant was crowned Miss America.  Immediately he began crying and wailing, “I want the white one to win! I want the white one to win!”  It took awhile to calm him down, and eventually he did fall asleep, but I was left puzzled.

In each instance I wondered what my son was seeing and how he was interpreting it. Was he identifying with the Huxtable family, yet later rejecting the Miss America who also looked like him? Was there something meaningful about this rejection, or did he simply want a winner who looked most like his best friend in pre-school, a kind,  gentle girl, with long blonde curls? Was he merely fascinated by the movement on the television in the first case, and simply exhausted in the second?  Just what could I reasonably surmise about his recognition of race and his response to it?   The answers to these and similar questions are important for an understanding of how our children grow to understand differences and shed light on the importance of diversity in their lives.

Many studies have been done to determine the point at which children become aware of racial differences. Over the years it has been demonstrated repeatedly that children begin this process as early as age two. By this age children are able to recognize physical differences, and as they learn to identify colors, they apply them to different skin tones. Because the thinking of children this age is quite concrete, they can identify a person by his/her color (e.g., she is brown), but cannot yet understand the racial/ethnic categories that distinguish one brown person from another (she is African American, he is Indian, she is Latina).   Further understanding of racial nuances comes with exposure, socialization and the later broadening of understanding that additional characteristics are incorporated into racial and ethnic categories.

Racial awareness develops in stages that coincide in general with the various stages of a child’s cognitive development.  Following the recognition of physical differences, some studies have shown that children can begin to develop negative notions of racial differences as early as three years old. Thus, it would not be impossible to hear a preschooler refer to her classmate as the “ugly brown girl.” The choice of one race over another has also been demonstrated in studies where white and black children showed a preference for white images and playthings. 

The notion of “pre-prejudice” describes the early development of racial biases.  Louise Derman-Sparks defines it as the misperception, discomfort, fear, and rejection of difference. Because children absorb the attitudes of adults at an early age, they become aware of the values that are placed on differences in race and ethnicity and begin to gain a sense of what is meaningful about them.  When our children express pre-prejudicial attitudes, they often have had assistance from us in forming them. By the time they are five years old most children are able to verbalize their understanding and to evaluate themselves and others in reference to race.  Adults who respond to signs of racial awareness by changing the subject, shushing their child, or making statements like “I don’t see color,” and, “We’re all alike,” give their own messages that there is something wrong about differences and there is certainly something wrong about talking about them.

A friend of mine, we’ll call her Anne, tells the story of a five year old she sat next to on the bus.  Anne is a lovely Caribbean American woman with a closely cropped hairstyle preferred by many women in her community. The little girl, who was white, began a conversation with my friend. After a few minutes the child announced that Anne was not really a girl because her hair is short. These kinds of comments are not uncommon for children and exemplify a concrete understanding of difference that, with the exposure to other bias, can be paired with negative perceptions of race (e.g.  “Brown girls with short hair don’t look the way girls should look; they don’t look right and they’re not pretty”).

Biracial children have a unique experience in that they grow up in households where difference is the “norm.”  From a young age, they are used to seeing people who look different from one another interact day to day. Thus, a child with parents who are racially/ethnically different from each other has the opportunity to develop a greater appreciation and acceptance of differences. Since they are challenged by a society that categorizes people into one racial niche or the other, biracial children need positive messages that encourage a self image that reflects who the child sees himself to be. How the world sees the child will surely impact this development, but parents, schools and communities can be instrumental in helping the biracial child to integrate a broader, healthier understanding of who they are.

What we know about helping our children to have a healthy understanding and appreciation for difference is that exposure to diversity during these formative years is key. Children who grow up in more diverse circumstances tend to develop an awareness of race that is more inclusive of the different ways that people normally look.  On the other hand, children whose circumstances are more homogenous and isolated are likely to perceive that they, and those who look like them, are the standard for how people, look, talk and behave. Thus, in encounters with those who are different, others are more likely to be viewed as “different from me,” rather than the child having a sense that “we are different from each other.” This sense of oneself as the “standard” from which others vary interferes with the child’s ability to appreciate the value of differences, encourages a sense of superiority to others, and diminishes the ability to interact effectively in a diverse world.

The lack of interaction across races leaves these children more vulnerable to absorbing the biased assumptions, beliefs and attitudes toward different races and ethnicities that are prevalent in our society.  In fact, there is research that has shown that by and large, white children are at greater risk for developing biases towards other races than are children of color. This may reflect in part a pattern of homogeneity in schools and neighborhoods that helps to create such a risk.

The importance of diversity in schools cannot be underestimated. That young children recognize racial differences as early as pre-school is not in dispute, but we must help them to understand these differences in a way that encourages their growth.  When we educate our children in more diverse schools we can underscore and reinforce positive messages about differences.  This will encourage our children’s ability to develop an enriched understanding of themselves and the world. Towards this end, the efforts of Early Steps and its partner schools are invaluable in the support of the development of healthier, more aware, and accepting children, and ultimately a healthier world.


The Difference That EARLY STEPS MAKES
by Stuart Johnson
Headmaster St. Bernard's School

In 1997 Joseph Noel became the first boy from Early Steps to receive his school shield on his commencement from St. Bernard's, the boys' elementary school he had entered as a first grader eight years before.  At commencement St. Bernard's awarded Joseph the Faculty Prize, given to "the boy who personifies, in class and out, the integrity and cheerfulness that the school values and hopes to inspire."   Joseph went on to Browning for high school and then to New York University.
 
In 1998 Ijah Mondesire-Crump became the second Early Steps boy to receive his St. Bernard's shield.  Ijah was awarded the science prize at his commencement, then headed off to Riverdale and later to Harvard.   Both he and Joseph are now studying medicine.  Not a bad start to a productive and happy relationship between St. Bernard's and Early Steps!  At each commencement ceremony Jacqui Pelzer was there, to help us celebrate the success of the not-so-little boys whom she had sent to us almost a decade earlier.

Every year afterward, students from Early Steps have been part of our commencement.  This June four more-Kamil-Amani Bynoe, Nyall Islam, David Klestadt, and Malik Norford-join the parade of Early Steps boys whom we number proudly among our graduates.  We are their First Alma Mater, as we like to remind them in one of our school songs, and they are our Old Boys.  Like all our Old Boys, Early Steps students are different from one another and from everyone else.  Some sail through triumphantly; others struggle.  Most do a bit of both sailing and struggling.  Some are good artists, performers, or athletes, as well as students; we hope that they all know what it means to be a good friend.  Like children everywhere they owe a huge debt to their parents, who make sacrifices in time, effort, and emotion to help them along.  And they owe almost as much to their teachers, coaches, and friends, who give them the support and training they need to succeed in life, not just in school.

In other words, these children and their school are not fundamentally different from children and schools everywhere.  What is vital is that schools give all their children the chance to develop their potential.  All their children-and the great gifts of a good school should be available to every family that values them and is willing to get the most from the experience.

So what does Early Steps do for St. Bernard's and more than forty other schools?  Quite simple:  it develops our potential.  It brings us extraordinary children, whom we want and need to educate.  And then these children, with their families, show us how to expand our reach and understanding.  They are valiant little souls, and their parents are often little short of heroic. 

Everything I Needed to Know about Parenting I Learned (Too Late) at Dog Obedience School
by Patrick F. Bassett, NAIS President

At the demise of my last basset, an octogenarian named Buffy, I became disconsolate, and obviously very much in need of a new basset puppy. My wife did not empathize with the gravity of my emotional need and insisted on jointly preparing one of those annoying decision-maker charts of plusses and minuses, her side the minuses, my side the plusses, before proceeding with adding a new family member. Suffice it to say, her side was substantially longer than mine (actually, the only plus I could think of was that I needed someone happy to see me when I came home from work, no matter at what time).

Regardless, by cleverly manipulating her into visiting a new litter with me, I prevailed. Although we had the pick of the litter and my wife opined that the comatose pup named Sleepy would be her choice, I selected the more obviously energetic basset pup, seven-week old Scarlett.

Very quickly, Scarlett began demonstrating the behaviors of wooden-headed stubbornness, (indigenous to the breed, my wife unkindly reminded me) that had made my wife's list longer than mine in the first place. Apparently, bassets are at the next to bottom rung of the canine intelligence ladder, only a slight step ahead of Afghans. My only recourse was Dog Obedience School at the local Humane Society. There, the Bassett family first encountered Parent Effectiveness Training (P.E.T.) at its zenith, in the form of Penny, our intrepid dog trainer.

Training embodied eight sessions, one per week, stretched over a two-month period, the theory being that what we learned during one class we could and should practice over the following week. The first two weeks were scheduled without dogs: i.e., the initial training was really for us owners more than for our dogs.

Epiphany #1: Why hadn't someone "required" us to do this sort of stuff before we had our first child, never mind our first dog.  In any case, Penny began by sizing us up: We were definitely the suburban soccer Mom set, barely able to keep all our own and our kids' appointments straight much less parent with some degree of consciousness and purpose. There was also, we all very quickly learned, a sheepish common ground we shared: miserable failures to date with teaching our past dogs or our current puppies anything remotely resembling good manners.

Halfway into our first session sans dogs, it was clear that we and our puppies would be a particularly interesting challenge for Penny, as each of us described our pups: Torch, the dalmatian, Cosmo, the black lab, Bailey, the mutt, Mollie, the collie, Pork Chop, the miniature collie, Teddy, the golden retriever, and, of course, Scarlett our basset, comprised the class. Unbeknownst to any of us, Penny was seeking from our descriptions to identify the most recalcitrant and obstreperous "child" in the group to invite to come solo in week two, so that all the owners could see, before they brought their dogs, how to handle even a tough case. I can't say that we were particularly pleased that Penny chose Scarlett as the guinea pig, knowing that bassets as a breed do not take to training with relish. "Great," my wife intoned, "Now we have to be humiliated in front of all classmates when no one else's dog will be there to misbehave and take attention off of us."

Everything Penny told us in week one worked, especially establishing consequences for unacceptable behaviors: "out of nowhere" dropping a can partially filled with pennies to eliminate begging at the table or nipping at one's heels (the noise scares the pup into thinking the universe doesn't approve of such behaviors); letting the pup know who's the "alpha dog" (i.e., you are the boss by "correcting" the dog via a choke chain if the dog rushes past you to go out the door first); placing mousetraps on furniture that the dog should not get up on (again, the noise scares them away); etc. I mean, every tactic worked for every bad behavior according to what Penny called, "the law of natural consequences": i.e., unacceptable behavior had unpleasant consequences. An important corollary to the law of natural consequences: "Do not command that which you cannot enforce," since that teaches the pup insubordination can go unpunished. Slowly, it dawned on us that we could correct certain things (jumping up on guests) and not others (barking at rabbits in the back yard).

Epiphany #2: Already I'm thinking, there must be parallel strategies I should have been using with my kids before they institutionalized their obnoxious habits and before they got to the stage of insisting on negotiating all behaviors to which I objected.

Scarlett's debut at dog obedience class, week two, was classic: She dragged us into the place and immediately peed on the floor, in front of the expectant crowd, sensing, I suppose, the excitement and high anticipation already in the room. Penny ignored Scarlett at first (since one thing that pups must learn is that they are not the center of the universe) and launched into the second week's instruction. About 30 minutes into the session, Penny introduced herself to Scarlett and took her leash, walking her to center stage. Penny sat down next to Scarlett, held her leash, and said, once, a command we had never yet used with her: "Down," pointing her hand down. That was it: one command, one gesture. Scarlett looked at Penny, saying, with her tilted head expression, "Yeah, right." The rest of us did the same.

All Penny told us was that we were about to witness a contest of wills, and that she, Penny, would win. Once she won this first battle, the war would be over for good. "Yeah, right," I thought.

For the next 30 minutes, Penny did not move, but just sat on the floor, held Scarlett's leash tightly so Scarlett could not wander away: Penny lectured to us on assorted nuances and protocols that were important in the universe of dogs: how to use positive reinforcements (mostly praise, occasionally treats), etc.

Epiphany #3: it's the praise, not the treats, which creatures respond to most. Save the treats for exceptional deeds: e.g., when the pup comes when you whistle (i.e., the whistle is one of your Maginot Lines of Defense, to be used in critical situations, so that the dog, even in hot pursuit of a rabbit, stops and returns to you: in that case, when the pup surprises you in responsiveness beyond all expectations, give the "jackpot" of all rewards, liver treats).

So now, thirty minutes after the command, "Down," Scarlett is visibly tiring: she is yawning, her legs are trembling, she occasionally whines, but she does not cave in. What is now patently obvious is that Scarlett knows exactly what the trainer wants, what down means, but there is no way she is going to willingly concede the point, since apparently she knows, too, that this is not just a test but the test of "who's in charge," and once vanquished, the pecking order is set forever, an indelible biological imprint that someone else is the boss to whom you must defer. As Penny would say, at some point, every pup is going to test the master, by saying, in puppy language, "Why do I have to obey the rules?"

Epiphany #4: At what point in rearing our children did we miss the opportunity to make this point. How did it slip by, when it is obviously so important?

Clang, clang, clang, clang, clang, clang, clang, clang! Eight o'clock, time for class to end, and Scarlett had not budged. I have to admit I took some sheepish pride in the strength of her resistance, since by now, it was obvious that she was in considerable physical discomfit, a condition that lying down would immediately relieve, but the strength of her own will was enormous. (Also, it was somewhat reassuring that there are "special cases" like bassets in which even the professionals cannot always triumph, excusing our poor results, to date, so far as I was concerned.) Everyone in the class, including us, began assembling our coats to exit the class when Penny said to everyone else, "See you next week," and to us, "Not so fast."

"Not so fast?" we asked.  "You're not going anywhere until Scarlett lies down."

Epiphany #5: There it was, then, the main lesson in parenting we needed: once the gauntlet is thrown, you don't back off, compromise, wait for another "teaching opportunity" on another day, concede the point, re-consider the importance, recalculate the level of resistance or any other wobbly parenting excuse to get on to other pressing business, since there is no more pressing business than setting the boundaries and no more important time and way to do so than in the earliest challenge to them.

The parents of Torch, Cosmo, Bailey, Mollie, Pork Chop, and Teddy all filed out, making a few desultory comments to us ("Hope you're not here too long") and a few encouraging ones to Scarlett ("It's OK to lie down, little girl"). Scarlett wagged her tail, and we put ours between our legs.

At 8:23 p.m., almost an hour after Penny had given the command, "Down," and 23 minutes after everyone else had left, Scarlett lay down. "Good dog," Penny murmured, petting her head. I leapt to my feet to give her a treat to "reinforce" Penny's approval, only to be rebuffed: "No!" Penny commanded, "You don't reward the dog for merely doing what she is supposed to do. Save the reward for something special."

"And so it goes," we learned in our subsequent P.E.T. classes with Penny and Scarlett and the rest of the troops. We were the last to arrive at Class Three, so all the other pups were there, chaotically out of control, sniffing each other's private parts, jumping up on and knocking over the small children in the room, yipping, and generally being obstreperous and undisciplined. Scarlett had made some modest progress over the week, but as soon as we arrived and she smelled all of the new friends she was about to make, she began lurching on her leash and giving all the signs that she was going to be difficult. Until we entered the room and saw Penny: Then she saluted, or at least the dog equivalent of a salute: she sat and looked at Penny, waiting for instructions. We all dropped our leashes in disbelief. "After the rest of you left last week," Penny explained, "I won."

As the weeks rolled by, I became a student of Penny's methods, and learned that Penny made no distinction, really, between puppies and parents: all were the same in terms of their helplessness, their need to learn the routines, and their responsiveness to negative and positive reinforcements. When Mollie the collie's mom made a pitifully weak correction for misbehavior, Penny yelled a sharp "No!" which scared Mollie, Mollie's mom, and the rest of us. (I knew I wasn't going to mess with Penny after that.) Penny had demonstrated to all of us one of her principles, that "one stern correction is worth a thousand pansy ones." Within minutes, Mollie misbehaved again and this time was decisively corrected by her Mom, to which Penny cooed, "Good correction, that's the way to do it, nice job." Mollie's Mom beamed. (I guess she felt Penny's approbation was the human equivalent of the liver treat.)

Week eight was final exams, graduation and doggy diplomas, an important affair in the lives of all of the students and their parents. We saw a lot of well-groomed pups, and more important, well-behaved ones. By week three we had learned that there would be a final exam, and ribbons would be awarded to the top three performers. The information galvanized my wife, competitive as she is, into high gear. We knew we had a challenge because even Penny conceded that bassets as a breed were "slow to respond" to training, so we worked assiduously at the task. Even when I arrived home late at night, my wife greeted me with the leash and the admonishment, "Scarlett's ‘STAY' is suspect: Let's work on it." The final results: Scarlett took second place, a red ribbon (which is now framed and prominently displayed in our kitchen), and Penny conceded that had her "controlled walk" been more conventional and less basset-like (i.e., nose to the ground and wiggling into every corner), she would have taken first place. We were thrilled.

Epiphany #6: Everything I needed to know about parenting I learned (too late) at dog obedience school: effective parenting requires self-discipline on the part of the parent, consistency, time, practice, seriousness, and toughness. And it requires some modeling to see and emulate.

Footnote to schools: Maybe we should require all newcomers to schools to provide, like immunization records, a P.E.T. certificate. Then, we might be less likely to have, as does one independent school, three second-grade mothers "on probation." Coda: Thanks to Penny and P.E.T., we have a very well-behaved basset pup, and I no longer "owe my wife big time," at least not on this front.