Is Your White School Good for My Black Child?
A local YMCA preschool coordinator returned my call. I wanted to learn more about their preschool programs.
“How old is your child?”
“Full-time or part-time?”
“Can he write?”
After I answered her most immediate questions, she added up all the fees that I would have to pay — as a YMCA member, not as a member, the summer session and the fall session. She said it would be more than $800 per month, which I thought was pretty good compared to other preschools and day cares that I’ve called.
The coordinator then asked me for my email address three or four times before repeating it back to me correctly. She was apologetic; I was amused. She had just finished explaining to me why she thought my son, who will be 4 years old in September, should be placed in the 3-year-old program. She made this judgment after asking me a few questions about his writing skills; yet she struggled to write down my email address correctly. Even after I told her it was “Graham” like the crackers and “Hunt” like people do animals.
“Kindergarten is the new first grade,” the preschool coordinator declared.
Maybe it was true, but the way that she said it made me lose interest in the program. I asked myself how I felt about sending my son to a place for hours at a time where they didn’t even ask me what his name was before asking me about him. I like when people who work in learning centers for toddlers say words like “nurturing.” I want my sons to participate in programs that affirm him, not make him feel he’s a world behind other 3-year-olds. I knew this school would not be an option.
The preschool coordinator sent a follow-up email to me with pictures of an empty classroom for the part-time program. This was in lieu of a tour. I assumed they weren’t giving them because of the pandemic. She started her email saying “Hello Sarah.” When I replied to her email declining her offer to send additional photos of what I assumed would be more empty classrooms, I reminded her that my name was Stacy.
I wanted to know what my child would look like in that classroom. I also wanted to know what the other kids looked like. He’d be spending lots of time with them. I wanted to know what the teachers looked like. Before sending my reply, I added three more questions:
“How many Black students were in your full-time and part-time programs last year?”
“How many Black teachers do you have?”
“How many students of color and teachers of color do you have in both programs?”
A director wrote me back this time. He said that the program and the YMCA are inclusive and “are in support of diverse environments both culturally and racially.” Later in his email he said they don’t usually share information about “numbers.”
I replied back and asked if there was any way that I could find out if my son would be the only Black person in the school, student or faculty member.
The director wrote me back, “Hello Stacey,” asking which program my son would be in if he enrolled.
“My son will be 4 in September, however [the preschool coordinator] recommended that he be placed in the 3-year-old program. Also, there is no ‘e’ in my name,” I wrote back. My mother taught me to always correct people if they misspelled and mispronounced my name, or if they came up with a version of my name that I wasn’t comfortable with.
The coordinator replied this time, saying that there would be one other “African American child” in the program.
I wrote back asking how many total students would be in the class. I am waiting for her reply.
The director said the preschool program taught “the importance of difference and individualism,” yet he misspelled my name, his employee addressed me by the wrong name, and they both refused to provide evidence that they were an inclusive space for Black children and teachers — well unless you count the one Black student in the 3-year-old class.
I wondered how many times my son would be called the wrong name or be confused with the other Black child in the class, like I’ve been confused with other Black women at community meetings in New Haven. I also worried how he might be disciplined in a classroom full of white students and teachers and how that might impact him.
I decided against sending my son to this preschool program because I didn’t want him to be the only Black student in his classroom, and I didn’t like the responses that I got from the people running the program.
Like I told the director, being in support of diversity and inclusion and practicing diversity and inclusion are two different things.
Stacy Graham-Hunt is a national-award winning columnist and author, who writes about race, culture and identity. She is passionate about Black people telling their own stories. Buy her book, “Processing Pain.” @StacyReports