How We Found Anti-Racism Resources That Work for a 5-Year-Old
My daughter was sitting cross-legged on the carpet in the children’s section of our local library, flipping through a picture book about a little girl who moves to a new town. She stopped on a page where the main character stood next to a classmate with dark brown skin. She looked up at me and said, “Why is that girl brown?”
I felt my stomach tighten. I knew this question was coming eventually—I’d read articles about “the talk” and what to say—but in that moment, all I could think of was some vague mumbling about melanin. She stared at me, waiting for an answer that wasn’t coming. Then she pointed again and said, “Is she sad because of that?”
That snapped me back. “No, honey. She’s happy. Her skin is just a different color, like how your hair is curly and hers is straight. Isn’t it nice that we don’t all look the same?”
She nodded, seemed satisfied, and turned the page. I took a breath and realized I had no real plan. I needed resources—not the heavy, academic, or guilt-laden stuff, but something that would make sense to a five-year-old without turning her first awareness of race into a scary lecture.
When I got home, I searched for “anti-racism resources for 5 year old.” I found book lists, activity sheets, and a lot of articles that all sounded like they were written for adults. Even the ones that meant well made me feel like I was supposed to have deep conversations about systemic injustice before lunch. My daughter can’t even tie her shoes yet. She isn’t ready for a TED talk. She’s ready for a story.
So I shifted my search. Instead of “anti-racism,” I looked up “diverse picture books for kindergarten.” That was the turning point. We ordered a stack from the library: The Colors of Us by Karen Katz, All Are Welcome by Alexandra Penfold, and Sulwe by Lupita Nyong’o. The first two were perfect right away.
The Colors of Us starts with a girl talking about the different shades of skin in her neighborhood—cinnamon, chocolate, peach, honey. My daughter loved that. She started naming her own skin color: “I’m like a pancake with a little toast.” She pointed to a friend and said, “You’re like a coffee milkshake.” The boy’s mom looked shocked at first, then laughed. It was a real moment, not a lesson.
I realized something early: at five, kids aren’t learning about racism the way we think of it. They’re learning about difference, fairness, and belonging. They notice skin color just like they notice hair length or shoe size. They don’t attach shame to it until we show them. So the work for me wasn’t to explain racism—it was to build a foundation where every shade looks normal and valued.
That’s when I started making small changes around the house. We swapped some of the identical blonde dolls for ones with darker skin and curly hair. We added a few books to the rotation that featured Black and brown characters living ordinary lives—not because they were about civil rights or a hero’s journey, but just because. A kid going to school. A kid eating dinner. A kid playing with a dog. The idea was to make diversity a backdrop, not a special event.
One afternoon, we had a playdate with a friend whose family is Indian American. My daughter walked over to her playmate’s mom and said, “Your skin is like the color of chai.” I honestly froze. But the mom said, “Thank you! I love chai. And your skin is like the inside of a flatbread.” My daughter giggled. We both let out silent sighs of relief.
That moment taught me something practical: kids aren’t being rude when they point out difference. They’re just curious. What matters is how we respond. If I shush her, whisper, or change the subject, I’m telling her that skin color is something to hide. Instead, I try to match her tone. When she asks why someone looks a certain way, I answer plainly and briefly. “Everyone has a different amount of a kind of pigment in their skin. It’s just a natural thing, like eye color.” Then I move on. That’s it. No long speech.
Another practical adjustment was watching how I talked about race in my own head. I used to say things like “I don’t see color” or “We’re all the same.” Turns out, that’s not helpful—and it’s not even true. My daughter sees color. If I pretend not to, I’m teaching her that noticing it is wrong. Instead, I try to name it positively. When we read a book about a Black girl who loves space, I’ll say, “Look at her beautiful curls. I wish my hair did that.” When we pass a neighborhood where everyone is Cambodian, I say, “This street has so many families with dark hair. Doesn’t it remind you of grandma?”
It sounds small, but it adds up. Through these tiny daily moments, she’s learning that diversity isn’t something to be afraid of—it’s just what the world looks like.
Of course, there have been harder conversations. One day, while drawing, she said, “I want skin like the brown crayon because it’s prettier.” That stopped me cold. I sat down beside her and asked what made her say that. She shrugged. I pointed to my own arm and said, “I like my skin, but I also love the color of your friend’s skin. Everybody’s is nice in its own way.” She took the brown crayon and used it to draw a sun. I don’t know if it registered, but I knew I had to keep saying this kind of thing even when she wasn’t asking.
The truth is, there isn’t one perfect anti-racism kit for a five-year-old. The closest we got was a stack of picture books, a basket of mixed-color crayons, and a commitment to not making it awkward. When I stopped looking for a formal lesson plan, I started seeing everyday openings. Grocery store. Doctor’s office. School pickup. Every place where we encounter people who don’t look exactly like us is a chance to normalize difference in a low-key, natural way.
Our current routine is simple. We read one of our diverse books at bedtime. I don’t add commentary unless she asks. We listen to music from different countries while we cook. Her dolls sit side by side in all shades, and she doesn’t even notice anymore. That feels like progress.
There are still days when I panic and think I’m not doing enough. Then I realize I haven’t had a single “big talk” about racism yet—and maybe that’s okay. At five, the foundation is just about seeing, naming, and not judging. The rest will come later, layer by layer, as she grows into harder questions. For now, we’re working on making sure that when those questions come, they won’t feel like a foreign language. They’ll feel like part of the story.
Please indicate: Thinking In Educating » How We Found Anti-Racism Resources That Work for a 5-Year-Old