I Want a White Mom

This week has been a mess and a half. As usual, I’ve spent my days with 1/3 of my posse, my 4-year-old daughter. Leading up to this week, she’s been slowly copping an attitude that has not been resting well with me. She’s given a little more sass in her responses, a little more side-eye when referring to people, and a twist in her step that I, for one, do not appreciate or deem appropriate for someone that I birthed.

My calls out to her have been met with, “YES, Mommy?!?” like I’m bothering her or something, rather than her usual, “Yes, Mommy?” I sure don’t know what changed of late that has made her think more highly of herself than usual, but I guarantee that if she doesn’t straighten herself up soon, she’s not going to like the results.

The other day, while we were doing my version of pre-school at home, she tried me with an attitude when I gave her two Essence magazines and told her to look for things or actions that started with the letter of the week, P, or to at least find as many of the letter as she could. She flipped through the magazines really quickly and replied, “There are no Ps there.”

I stopped what I was doing and said, “Ummm…what? What do you mean there are no Ps?” We agreed that for every P I found, she would get a hand swat. By swat three, I gave her the same instructions as before, and she just sat with a scowl on her face. By the third time, my patience had worn very thin, so I told her to go to her room while I made lunch. She proceeded to tell me that she couldn’t go, because she had not had her snack.

I told her she was lucky she would be having lunch and needed to go upstairs to her room. I returned to preparing lunch when I turned around to find her there, arms crossed, still with a scowl and unmoved. I reminded her of my instruction to go to her room, but there she stood...unmoved. As I made my way in her direction, she attempted to raise her hand at me, and ooooohhhh weeeeee…that was all it took. I went after her. In her attempt to run away, she tripped over a 3-gallon water jug, which then tipped our water stand, which then fell over and broke our porcelain water container, which was 3/4 full of water all over the carpet. I was livid.

I just couldn’t at that moment, so I left the mess there and realized she was nowhere in sight. The moment the porcelain jug fell, our eyes met, and all I saw was terror in her eyes, and she ran. Where? I don’t know. Needless to say, less than ten minutes later, I heard a faint, “Mommy, I’m sorry. Mommy, I’m sorry.” I called her to meet me in the kitchen and waited several minutes before she joined me. I knew if I reacted in that moment, she would be dealt with in major anger, and I would just etch her impression of black moms in her head further.

Two days prior, she had done something, for which I disciplined her. Afterward, when we discussed if she knew why she had been disciplined, she stated she knew and verbalized why. A few hours later, she came to the kitchen and simply stated, “Aunty (name here), Aunty (name here), and Miss (name here) are always being mean to their kids. How come they have to spank them? We know when we do bad stuff. You guys don’t have to spank us. I want a white mommy. White mommies talk to their kids and don’t spank them. That’s why their kids like them. You know…I love you, but I don’t like you.” She then thanked me for her snack and walked away after eating it.

A white mommy, huhn? I think she needs to spend three years in a Nigerian boarding school. Discipline is now being equated with one being mean? I think not. I refuse to raise an individual who is useless to society, who does not own up to his/her faults, who believes all the problems in his/her life are due to everyone else but does not consider the poor judgment calls he/she has made. I will not foster rude or disrespectful behavior or enable entitlement, and that’s just me as a parent.