Pemco, we're a lot like you: White

Plastered all over billboards and buses in my area, Pemco advertises their insurance (for what, I don't know).  The intimacy-inducing motto is, "we're a lot like you."  The pictures portray quirky Northwesterners: white-beared Bainbridge architect, 50 degrees shirt off guy, WallaWalla WineWine WomanWoman, gluten-free no-refined sugar soy allergy lady, goat renter guy.

It is pretty funny to see our local oddities called out larger than life, except one thing really bugs me.  All us personality-laden people seem to be white.

For probably about a year now I've been watching the ads, wondering about the whiteness of them.  Is it some ad agency's mindless oversight?  Does the insurance agency really not want to attract people of color for some reason?  Are race and class so mixed that people of color don't fall into the target audience for insurance - because really most of the not-white people I know still drive cars, see doctors and have children they want to protect in case of their death. Maybe the ads are carefully targeted to the demographics of the local population and so my white-self only sees white people ads.  No, wait, I live in the most diverse zip code in the US so that can't be it.

Personally, I'd want my ad agency to be a little more on top of this sort of image management.

Once, for just a short run, there was a woman who looked Asian in the ads.  She and her pooch represented the dog park devoted personalities. I did sigh with relief that nothing about the picture jumped out at me as being racist or stereotypical.  But the ad only ran a week or so.

A quick visit over to the Pemco site yields a variety of quirky Northwesterners of color.  Somehow these haven't made it to the mass public outreach.

I'd like to finish this post with some jaunty summary or witty remarks, but I find I'm at a loss.  Have you seen the signs?  Notice any people of color?  How do the ads seem to you?

Letting It In

Today, I'm entering baby mania.  

Bill met with our matched mama for lunch, after we talked with her last week. She's delightful, seems very grounded and well supported by her family.  Hearing from her and why she thinks this adoption supports her has given me permission to get really excited.

The kids and I went to Gap and picked out outfits for the baby.  Oh my gosh, I'd forgotten how tiny they are. And remember size 0-3 months will be HUGE at first?  Just makes my heart squeeze.  Newborn size FuzziBunz diapers arrived a few days ago, which turns out to be a whole rainbow of teeny baby bottom cuteness.  I've taken to wondering how much hair he'll have and practicing inhaling newborn baby smell.   

Two thing got the tears flowing today while Bill told me about his lunch.  First, she kept copies of the sonogram for us which I think is so considerate and sweet (sniff, I've never seen pictures of my babies on the inside before).  And, happy sigh, I think we have a name for him (don't bother asking because we're not going to tell you).  

I'm looking forward to being mama to a little baby again, soon! I think we're going to have a great time together.

White Sports

You wanna talk about how white I am?  Let's talk sports.

There is one sport I love. That I regularly wish I could make time in my life to play.  That I've wanted to play since I was about 8.  That I feel guilty for not devoting time and money to enable my kids to play because I think it is so great to watch and play.

Hockey.

Do you know how dominated by white people hockey is?  Very.  Very, very.  If I signed my kids up at any of the 3 rinks around that do kid hockey, my daughter would likely be the only black peson in the whole program.  

If we really wanted to devote our energies to connecting with families of other black children, basketball is the way to go here. In fact, some of the basketball clubs I've seen around here are sort of the opposite of hockey.  If I signed my kids up, my son would likely be the only white person in the building.

Turns out, neither of my children like being the only anything in the room. So, we do baseball and soccer because they're fun and Bill and I can stand watching hours of them each week.  In our neighborhood each of these sports are pretty equally represented by the prominent races in our area. Both my children are making friends, getting great exercise and love the sports. It works for our family.

Still, my white Montana-bred heart longs for hockey. That's just how white I am.

Life Examined

I know that people have asked this important question before, but...

why are there 8 hot dogs in a package and only 6 hot dog buns in a bag?

And another thing... diverse zip code

About living here.  I've heard more than a few neighborhood white folks cite the fact that we live in America's most diverse zip code as if that shows that they are not racist or racialized in any way.

To that I say "hooey." If you only invite the white neighbors to the block party it doesn't matter how diverse your zip code is, you're still racist.

America's Most Diverse Zip Code

Turns out, my family lives in America's most diverse zip code.

Which explains our move here from a very homogenous neighborhood to this delightfully complex one. The first day we moved here my entire family seemed to sigh with relief, now housed in an area where people look like all of us and families look all sorts of different ways.

But still.  It seems like a pretty segregated neighborhood to me. Maybe I'm missing out on the multiracial party, but my experience thus far is that we're living next to each other more than with each other.  The togetherness I'm seeking John Raible calls transracialization, "living in long-term relationships of caring with racial 'Others.'"

While out and about in the neighborhood I see the diversity, but joining into clubs and activities I see the separation.  Each of the local community centers seems to attract it's own racial group. Restaurant cliental abides pretty closely to cultural/racial lines.  Neighborhood playgroups tend to be white because white moms tend to be the stay at home moms.  Basketball teams and the local Boys and Girls club are almost exclusively black.  The 4:00 school swim classes are mostly Asian kids, the after 5:00 swim classes are mostly black kids. I struggle to understand the logistics and culture divides that drive us to such clean separation.

I hope our neighborhood is leading the way, and maybe living next to each other is the way to start living in relationship with each other.  But looking out from my porch, we still have a longs ways to go.

Applesauce Happiness

One of our local neighborhood heroes is the children's librarian at the nearby branch of the Seattle Public Library.  Her name is Anna.  

My children adore "Miss Anna."  Her delightful way with the children and her super book recommendations have earned her high honor in their world. 

A few months ago, one of the books that found its way into our giant pile (limited now to a mere 50 books per the new policy) was Applesauce Season by Eden Ross Lipson.  The story tells of a family ritual of making apple sauce, in creative detail with a recipe at the last page of the book.   

Predictably, the kids had a great idea when we hit the produce isle during our  next shopping trip.  Let's make apple sauce!  Now, what mama can say no to such a request? Both kids were desperate to fill their own bag of apples, so we left the store with 12 pounds of apples.

Much to my surprise the recipe ran so smoothly that the children did almost all of the work: scrubbing, chopping and measuring.  The apples cooked while we ate our breakfast.  Both children  squealed with delight as they milled the apples and the mush started to look like "real" apple sauce.

Now, several batches later, the kids devised a new great plan: let's take applesauce to Miss Anna. So on Wednesday they again scrubbed, chopped, measured and milled.  That afternoon we presented a jar of still-warm applesauce for Miss Anna. She exclaimed that she loves applesauce and thanked the kids so profusely they both grinned from ear to ear.

I'm still glowing. I love the little moments in our homeschool day when we can give back to someone who has brought such richness to our lives. Sharing the love, still warm from our kitchen, is even better.