My family resides in a comfortable bubble. We are educated, middle-class, and white. Aside from a few childhood hurdles (I was quite the bookworm, and my partner struggled with reading), we’ve largely avoided significant challenges. Our kids are growing up in a community with minimal racial and socioeconomic diversity, enjoying robust health and endless opportunities to replicate our success. They have yet to encounter real adversity.
While I appreciate this privilege, I can’t help but be concerned about my family’s capacity to empathize with others. It’s all too easy to remain blissfully unaware of the hardships that countless individuals face. This bubble feels safe and snug, but it can also lead to a false sense of reality. It’s simple to convince oneself that the struggles we hear about in the news or online are not as severe as they appear. This mindset fosters a sense of unwarranted superiority.
In my 20s, I had a conversation with a friend named Kenji that was truly eye-opening. He shared his experiences as a Japanese American, reflecting on the irony of living in a place that once housed internment camp detainees during World War II. At that time, I was distracted, probably stressing over trivial matters like why my roommate wouldn’t load the dishwasher.
When Kenji mentioned that his apartment had a dark past, I found myself confused and taken aback. I had never considered the historical implications of the place where he lived. My ignorance was jarring; how could I have overlooked such an important part of history? I realized that I must have subconsciously chosen to ignore it. Growing up, I didn’t have any Japanese American friends, and without exposure, the information had never truly registered. The responsibility for my ignorance rested solely with me.
That day was a pivotal moment for me. I recognized that history is subjective and that we have a duty to listen to all the narratives, even the uncomfortable ones. Now, I make an effort to ask deeper questions and to seek a better understanding of the world around me. I’m still aware of my sheltered existence, and I know there are many challenges I remain oblivious to. However, when I encounter something that piques my interest, I take note.
I am also instilling this mindset in my children. At the ages of 9 and 7, they and I have already navigated some difficult discussions, including one about the internment camps. While I avoid delving into details that may be inappropriate for their ages, I want them to grasp the importance of recognizing our country’s flaws alongside its strengths. I hope they learn to love their country while acknowledging its mistakes and understanding their role as active, informed citizens.
We plan to visit the Amache internment camp, which is only a few hours from home. While it won’t be the most cheerful family outing, it is bound to be a significant experience. My history-loving 9-year-old will likely find it fascinating, whereas my empathetic 7-year-old may find it overwhelming and want to leave after an hour. Regardless of their reactions, this trip will help them see the world more clearly.
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Summary:
This article discusses the importance of educating children about social injustices, using personal anecdotes to illustrate the impact of privilege and historical awareness. The author emphasizes the need for open conversations about difficult topics, aiming to foster empathy and understanding in the next generation.