When my son was four, his grandmother sent him Peanuts Thanksgiving stickers in a greeting card.
At which he giggled, "It's a Charlie Brown Pow-wow? That's so silly!"
And I'm embarrassed to say,
until that moment I hadn't realized, how truly absurd it was.
About the same time the following year, my son exits his school wearing a paper headdress and yells to me,
"Look Mom! I'm a Pow-wow guy!"
|from Nebraska State Historical Society|
I didn't bother correcting him.
The next year, he came home declaring,
"Indians have a different word for pants!"
So, sent him to school with information about the only Native language I knew.
And his teacher thanked me.
The following year, as part a lesson about teaching the history of the state, he came home with coloring pages praising Custer for his, "Valuable service."
And so, I yelled at the State Historical society who printed it and the teacher who handed it out.
His teacher didn't realize it was offensive.
The Historical Society apologized profusely
and said they'd send out new lesson materials.
A small victory.
I had to try to explain Custer to my seven-year-old.
I've had to explain to my child why he can't yell,
"But Spiderman says it!"
"Spiderman doesn't know any better."
"But you do."
it's all small stuff.
And over there.
when my son grows up,
he'll be the one that argues,
"Hey, I don't think it's okay to name
a nuclear weapons system