Anti-Racism Resources for 5 Year Olds: Books, Phrases, and Real Life Moments
The library book was about a birthday party in Brooklyn, and the main character had deep brown skin and a puff of dark curls. My daughter, who is five and white, looked at the illustration and said, “Why is she that color?”
I usually feel prepared for her questions—whys about rain, about the moon, about why we can’t have cupcakes for breakfast. But this one gave me a sharp, sudden pause. I didn’t want to say “brown” like it was strange, or “Black” as if that needed explaining, or worse, “who cares?” because that felt like skipping the whole subject. So I said the most honest, simple thing that came to mind: “Because her body makes more melanin. That’s the same stuff that makes your hair dark. People come in lots of beautiful colors.”
She looked satisfied and asked about the cake on the next page. But I sat there thinking about what I’d actually done—and more importantly, about what a five-year-old truly needs when it comes to race and fairness.
That moment sent me searching for anti-racism resources for her age. I found plenty aimed at adults—books, podcasts, Instagram accounts full of charts and vocabulary. But when I looked for something to put in front of a small child, most things fell into two camps. One was too fluffy: the “we are all different but the same” kind of book that never mentions race directly, as if pretending will make it vanish. The other was too heavy: lengthy stories about the civil rights movement with dense text and abstract concepts like systematic oppression. My daughter lost interest in both.
The resource that worked best wasn’t a single book or a scripted conversation. It was a collection of specific, everyday practices, plus a few books that let her see the world as is—a world with many kinds of people—and gave us a shared language to talk about it.
The first book that stuck was The Colors of Us by Karen Katz. A little girl walks through her neighborhood and notices that everyone’s skin is a different shade, which she compares to cinnamon, chocolate, honey, and coffee. My daughter loved that. Suddenly skin color wasn’t this solemn thing. It was something to notice, like hair length or the sound of a laugh. She started saying things like, “I’m peach, and Daddy is a toasted marshmallow,” which made him laugh. Some adults might worry that comparing skin to food is disrespectful, but at five, these concrete connections work. What matters is that she was noticing without assigning a value to it.
Another book that earned its place on our shelf is All Are Welcome by Alexandra Penfold. It’s not explicitly about race—it’s about a school where kids wear hijabs, show up with different skin tones, and eat lunches from all over the world. The word “welcome” appears again and again. That repetition is exactly what a preschooler needs. She can understand that everyone belongs, that inclusion is a normal part of life.
The books that failed taught me something too. Once, I borrowed a beautifully illustrated biography of Rosa Parks, thinking the story of one brave woman might be accessible. But the text was dense, and the concept of segregation required a historical understanding she simply doesn’t have yet. She asked why Rosa couldn’t sit at the front, and my explanation was a fumbling mess of “because of rules back then that were wrong” and “some people were treated unfairly because of their skin color.” She turned the page and pointed at a bus. The book sat in our return pile, unfinished. I wasn’t discouraged. I just realized that for this age, the message has to be small and immediate.
What I’ve learned is that anti-racism for a five-year-old looks less like a lesson and more like a series of tiny touches. It’s not one big talk; it’s a thousand casual comments, questions, and observations.
Here are a few things that actually made a difference in our house.
We started paying attention to the world around us. When we read a book or watch a show, I pause and say, “This story has a girl who uses sign language. Do you think that’s interesting?” Or, “That boy has skin much darker than yours. Yes, people come in so many shades, aren’t we lucky?” It feels awkward at first, but children need permission to notice. If I act like skin color is something we shouldn’t talk about, she’ll pick up on that discomfort.
We also talk about fairness, which is a concept five-year-olds know intimately. They experience unfairness daily—a sibling getting an extra cookie, a turn on the swing that ends too soon. So I connect racism to that feeling. If we’re watching a story where a character is left out because of how they look, I ask, “Did that seem fair to you?” That opens a door. She’ll say, “No, they should play too.” That’s the basic building block of anti-racism: recognizing when someone is being treated badly and feeling it as a wrong.
At the playground, I’ve started pointing out general diversity without forcing it. “That little boy is speaking Spanish. Maybe you’ll learn some words someday.” Or, “That girl’s skin is very dark, and she has really curly hair. Some people have that.” I don’t make everything an explicit lesson, but I make sure I don’t stay silent about differences either. The goal is to normalize them.
One of the most practical tips I found came from a parenting blog: check your own bookshelf. Do most of the characters look like your child? Do all the stories come from one kind of author? When I looked at ours, I realized how white our picture books were. So we made a point of getting books with Black, Latinx, and Asian main characters, not as a special “diversity” unit, but just as part of the rotation. My daughter doesn’t care who’s on the cover. She just wants a good story.
I also learned to say “I don’t know” more often. When she asks something complicated, like why some people are treated badly because of their skin color, I sometimes don’t have a clean answer. So I say, “That’s a really important question. I’m not sure how to explain it all. Let’s think about it together.” That feels honest. It also teaches her that this is something we figure out as a family, not a thing to be embarrassed about.
A few weeks ago, we were coloring at the kitchen table. She drew a picture of her two best friends—one whose family is from Ghana, and one who’s white. She used three different browns for the skin. She labeled them, “me, Maya, and Zara.” Then she said, “Everyone has the right color for them.” I almost teared up, but I didn’t want to make a big deal out of it. I just said, “Yeah. Look at all those beautiful colors.”
It’s not a perfect process. Some days I worry I’m being too quiet or too overeager. I’ve said clumsy things. But I’m learning that, at this stage, the real work is simpler than I thought: make sure your child sees a wide world, give her language to talk about what she notices, and don’t shut down when the questions feel hard.
Last night, she snuggled up with me and said, “Zara’s skin is the color of peanut butter. I like peanut butter.” I laughed, and she laughed too. It wasn’t the most sophisticated anti-racism conversation. But it was a start—and honestly, that’s all it needs to be.
Please indicate: Thinking In Educating » Anti-Racism Resources for 5 Year Olds: Books, Phrases, and Real Life Moments