Age-Appropriate Anti-Racism Resources for 5 Year Olds: What I Learned As A Parent
Last month, my 5-year-old Lila pulled me aside at the grocery store, voice loud enough for the woman in the next aisle to turn and smile, and asked why the man bagging our groceries had skin so much darker than ours. I froze, mumbled something quick about how people have different colored skin just like we have different colored hair, grabbed my receipt, and hurried out to the car. That night, after I got Lila down to bed and ate a cold leftover cookie standing over the sink, I opened my laptop and typed exactly what I was thinking: anti-racism resources appropriate for a 5 year old.
I scrolled through page after page of results, and most of it felt wrong. There were long reading lists for high schoolers, dense articles explaining concepts that I’d have a hard time unpacking, let alone a kid who still thinks the moon follows our car home. I saved three picture books to my Amazon cart, then deleted two: one had a description of segregated water fountains that I knew would just leave Lila with a hundred confusing questions about why anyone would tell someone they can’t drink water, and the other was a collection of biographies that would lose her attention before I finished the first page. I texted Lila’s preschool teacher, Ms. Mabel, at 9 pm, figuring she’d get back to me in a few days, but she wrote back 10 minutes later: Come grab a coffee after drop off tomorrow, I’ll show you what I use.
Sitting at the diner around the corner from the preschool, sipping bad diner coffee while Lila’s class played outside behind us, Ms. Mabel said the biggest mistake parents make is looking for big, formal resources when what 5 year olds need is small, concrete stuff. “They don’t think in systems,” she said, wiping a splash of syrup off her napkin. “They think in crayons and playdates and the cookies their friend brought to snack time. Any resource that tries to explain big, heavy injustice to a 5 year old is wasting your time, and it’s confusing for them.” That hit me— I’d been so focused on doing it “right” that I forgot how Lila actually sees the world.
She sent me home with three picture books she uses in class, and a handful of small, doable tips that I’ve been trying out for the past month. The first book is The Skin You Live In by Michael Tyler, and it’s exactly what I needed. It rhymes, it’s short, it compares different skin shades to everything from coffee to caramel to cream, and it ends with all the kids holding hands to play. Lila asks to read it at bedtime three nights a week, and her favorite thing is pointing to all the different skin tones in the illustrations and matching them to people she knows: “That one’s Ms. Mabel! That one’s my friend Zara!” That’s it— no big lectures, just normalizing difference in words she gets. The second is Hair Love by Matthew Cherry, which is just a sweet, short story about a dad learning to do his daughter’s curly hair. There’s no conflict heavier than a bad hair day, and Lila just thinks it’s funny when the dad’s hair gel goes everywhere. It just shows a Black family being a regular family, which is exactly what a 5 year old needs to see.
The other resources aren’t even things you have to buy, which I love. Ms. Mabel pointed out that most of our kids’ toys and storybooks only show one kind of family, so small swaps or additions go a long way. I went through Lila’s doll bin a week later and realized every single doll she had blonde hair and pale skin. I ordered one affordable dark-skinned doll with braids from Target, and that’s it— I didn’t throw out the old ones, I just added one. Now when Lila plays “mommy and baby”, half the time the baby is the new doll, and it’s just normal. She doesn’t make a big deal out of it, which is the point.
Another thing I started doing that I never thought of before: I answer her questions instead of shushing her or changing the subject. Before the grocery store incident, if Lila pointed out someone’s difference in public, I’d get embarrassed and tell her it’s not polite to talk about it. Now I know that just tells her difference is something scary or bad to be quiet about. Instead, if she asks why someone’s hair is curly or their skin is brown, I answer simply, right there, no matter who’s around. Last week at the library, she asked why the storytime lady was speaking Spanish first before English, and I just said “Some people speak Spanish at home, some people speak English, it’s fun that we get to hear both today.” That’s all. No big explanation, just an honest answer that doesn’t make difference sound like a secret.
I still mess up. Last week, I caught myself rushing her to stop asking questions about a man wearing a turban at the park, because I was worried I’d say the wrong thing. I still haven’t figured out how to talk about unfairness in terms she gets, beyond “It’s always wrong to be mean to someone because of how they look.” That’s okay, Ms. Mabel told me. You don’t have to build a full understanding of anti-racism when your kid is 5. All you have to do is give them the right words for their questions, and normalize difference in the small, everyday stuff they actually care about.
Last weekend, Lila and I went to the playground, and she spotted a new little boy with curly brown hair and dark skin playing on the monkey bars. She walked right up to him, paused, and said “I have a book that has skin just like yours. Wanna go down the slide with me?” They played for half an hour, and I sat on the bench watching, eating another cold leftover cookie I’d grabbed from the jar at home. I don’t have a big box of fancy resources, and I don’t have all the answers. I’m still adjusting, still learning how to respond when I’m caught off guard. But so far, the small stuff is working. And that’s enough for right now.
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