Eldest revered son and I were reading Todd Parr's "It's Okay to Be Different," a book about how being different is great, even if you have a funny nose and are fat and ungainly. On one page it reads "It's okay to be a different color." I asked Casper, "What color are you?" I expected him to recognize the truth. White as white on milk! Not yaller, not beige, but WHITE. Pigment-free! White as this glaring computer screen!
"I am BLACK," he said.
"I am black, black, black. I am a black boy."
"You don't look so black."
"I am black, my mommy!" he shouted.
I turned to Littlest son, aka Whitey: "What about you? Are you black, too?"
"No, mommy," he said, shaking his head. "You is da black one. I is chewing on mein Schtinky Teddy's foot." And he proceeded to do so with the intensity of an angry bulldog, with much gargling and maniacal laughter. (Schtinky Teddy is in danger of imminent nose loss, so we have turned Whitey on to the paw area.)
Casper concluded: "Black guys and I are twins." Race relations shall not be a problem!