Our favorite hiking path meanders through wetlands and ancient earthworks. Each time I catch sight of the towering mounds of soil that snake through the marsh, I can’t help but feel a shudder. “These hills were constructed by enslaved people,” I explain to my 6-year-old. “They were forced to dig and drain this land, enduring hunger and diseases like malaria and yellow fever from mosquito bites.” My son instinctively scratches his legs. “A man in power told them what to do,” I add.
Alternatively, we could visit the statehouse—also built by enslaved labor. Surrounding it are statues, including one honoring the Father of Gynecology, who performed surgeries on enslaved women without their consent. Other monuments pay tribute to segregationists and slave owners. I choose not to take my sons to this place often; they only went for the first time during the flag protests. “Take it down,” we demanded, and thankfully, we succeeded. “History, not hate,” shouted some onlookers, waving Confederate flags.
“That flag represents slavery,” I tell my son. “It’s for those who fought to keep it legal.” He nods, visibly uncomfortable at the mention of slavery. He often covers his ears, pleading for me to stop, insisting he already knows about it. What he doesn’t yet realize is that he has ancestors who fought for the Confederacy.
As a white mother in this environment, I must navigate these conversations with care. It’s crucial for my children to befriend a diverse group of peers, read books that reflect varied cultures, and be mindful of their language.
We were discussing classmates in my 4-year-old’s YMCA group when he mentioned one child, noting, “He’s black.” Not knowing his name, he said, “I call him ‘furry head.’” I nearly choked on my sweet tea. “You can’t say that,” I corrected him. “It compares his hair to an animal’s, and he’s not an animal.”
“He didn’t mind,” my son replied with a shrug. But I pictured that child telling his mother, and her heart sinking. We took a trip to the library and borrowed numerous books by authors like Maya Angelou and Dinah Johnson. We even engaged in a study on black hair, ensuring my boys understand the beauty and significance of it. Here, in this community, they cannot perpetuate negative stereotypes.
Race relations are not the only delicate subject. As Catholics, we find ourselves in the minority, often viewed as outsiders. In our homeschooling journey, we must remain vigilant. A well-meaning family might believe they need to save my children. I’ve encountered curriculums that labeled Asians as inbred or claimed the Earth was only a few thousand years old, dismissing fossils as deceptions. We have to be cautious about what we discuss and who our children play with.
Even our secular homeschool group once referred to black individuals as “Negros”—a term that feels outdated and inappropriate. Thankfully, we missed that lesson, sparing me the need to create an awkward scene. Confronting racism often requires discomfort and confrontation, and here in South Carolina, there are many moments that call for it.
Politically, the atmosphere is notably conservative. Just the other day, I was cut off by a car adorned with a Donald Trump sticker, and my son asked who he was. I found myself explaining his controversial politics and why many people support him, while also expressing my disagreement. Now, he proudly mentions Bernie Sanders, believing everyone deserves free healthcare. I didn’t reveal to him how many people back Trump; it was too much for me to bear.
There are subtler indicators of local conservatism, too. Country clubs abound, and we lack the right last names to gain entry. Young girls don Lilly Pulitzer dresses, and parks are often filled with nannies, frequently of a different race than the children they supervise. Our sheriff has spent considerable funds on military-grade vehicles, citing fears of potential unrest. Conversations about Hispanics quickly spiral into rants about illegal immigration, and our favorite local shops frequently close due to immigration raids.
Once people learn about our interests, politics, and activism, I often see them retreating or seeking conversation with another mom. When I expressed concern over the “Negro” incident, a fellow parent simply shrugged, suggesting the teacher wanted to preserve historical accuracy. My sons often stand out in their normal T-shirts and jeans, and I can feel the judgment from other mothers. I’ve stopped wearing my band T-shirts to avoid scrutiny.
It’s a landscape filled with racism, poverty, conservatism, and evangelical beliefs, and I find myself shielding my children from ideas I wish to keep them from. Yet, we are nestled between the mountains and beach, boasting a fantastic children’s museum, a lovely climate, and rich cultural offerings. We cherish our liberal friends, mostly met through parenting circles and the university. Despite the challenges, we choose to stay, work for change, and teach our children the values we hold dear.
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Summary:
Raising children in a conservative environment poses unique challenges for parents, especially in discussions surrounding race and politics. The author emphasizes the importance of providing diverse experiences and education for their children while navigating the complexities of their community. Though they face obstacles, they remain committed to fostering understanding and change.