B is for Brown

Last night while waiting for me to get Marcel to bed, Sam sat back to the heater (his favorite place in the entire house, even in the summer the metal cools him) coloring his new adored book. Normally, I would frown on this behavior. In this case, I even gave him the marker, and showed him how. The book, Z is for Zamboni A Hockey Alphabet by Matt Napier is just what you would expect in a board book. Chunky, infinitely colorful, and inviting. Well, inviting if you are a hockey phenom in the making (Sam) and white (not Sam). So we remedied this with the brown marker.

I explained to him how traditionally hockey has not been a sport that brown skinned people have been drawn to for several reasons, the one my heater loving son could truly appreciate is that historically people with skin his color preferred warmer climates. Places that did not have frozen ponds for learning to skate on like he did twice today, and almost every day I can arrange to get someone to take him there. (I use Marcel as an excuse to stay home unless it is sunny out.) Uncle took him twice yesterday. When we came down to watch, I did not recognize Sam. His agility on the ice has improved five times in a week. According to Marc, Sam draws constant praise from any skater who comes within earshot. They refuse to believe he is four. Last night when I mentioned my disbelief at his skills, Sam responded; I know mom, and I can button my pajamas and write my name too. True that. As I type this, Marcel is coloring his pajamas with markers. There is no more room on his hands or face.