Anti-Racism Resources for 5 Year Olds: What Works (And What Doesn’t) for Preschoolers
Last month, I was pushing my 5-year-old Lila’s baby brother on the swing at our neighborhood playground when she came barrelling over, grass stains crusted on her knee, one pigtail slipping halfway out of its elastic. “Mom,” she panted, “why does my new friend Mia’s skin look different than mine?”
I froze. I’d known this question was coming—we pass people of all different backgrounds on our walk to the library every day, and Lila’s preschool has kids from every corner of the world. But all the anti-racism content I’d stumbled on online was for teens or adults, full of conversations about systemic harm I knew Lila couldn’t wrap her head around. I mumbled something vague about it being like how some people have blue eyes and some have brown, she nodded, and ran off to play tag. But I left the playground knowing that answer was a cop-out. That night, I sat down to hunt for age-appropriate resources, and what I found surprised me.
Most of the first results were either too much or too little. I found articles that suggested talking to 5-year-olds about police violence and chattel slavery, which felt wildly out of step with what a kid that age can process. Their brains are still learning to tell the difference between a bad dream and real life; dropping that level of trauma on them just leaves them scared and confused, not informed. On the other end, I got dozens of listicles that boiled anti-racism down to “just be nice to everyone,” which didn’t help when Lila was already asking a specific question about difference.
I texted my friend Sarah, who’s a preschool teacher at Lila’s school, and she sent over a short list of things she uses in her classroom that work. I tested them out over the last month, and most of them stuck. The first thing I ordered was The Skin You Live In, a short, rhyming picture book that talks about different skin tones without any heavy subtext. The first night we read it, Lila pointed at every page and named the tones like she was picking out ice cream flavors: “That one looks like my toast with peanut butter! That one’s just like the chocolate sprinkles we get at the birthday party!” It didn’t feel like a lesson. It just felt like a story, and by the end, she’d gotten the point: our skin is just what covers us, and we all laugh, play, and love the same way.
That book was the first win, but I quickly learned that resources for 5-year-olds aren’t just books. Sarah told me that the biggest mistake parents make is shushing their kid when they ask about difference, because that teaches kids that asking is rude, and that difference is something scary to ignore. I’d almost done that a week after we got the book, when we were in the grocery store and Lila loudly asked why the man by the produce aisle was wearing a wrap on his head. Instead of tugging her hand and hissing “be quiet,” I took a breath and said, “That’s a turban. It’s a special head covering some people wear because of their religion, just like you wear your sparkly tutu to ballet class because it’s special to you.” Lila nodded, said “that’s cool,” and went back to asking for goldfish crackers. It was that simple. No big lecture, just a straight answer that met her where she was.
I also swapped out a few of the hand-me-down dolls we had sitting in the play bin. I’d gotten three plain pale plastic dolls from my cousin when Lila was born, and that was all we had. I ordered two more for $10 each: a Black doll with braided hair and an Asian doll with a traditional silk dress. It wasn’t a big gesture, but now when Lila plays family, all the dolls get turns being the mom and the kid, and difference is just normal, not something we only talk about when a question comes up. Another book that’s worked well for us is Last Stop on Market Street, which tells a simple story about a boy riding the bus with his grandma, and noticing all the different people in his neighborhood. It’s gentle, it’s relatable, and it leaves Lila with the sense that every person brings something cool to the world.
I did mess up once, though. A friend sent me a 10-minute animated video about racial injustice that was labeled “for kids,” and I put it on after dinner one night. Halfway through, Lila turned to me with big eyes and asked, “Is someone going to be mean to Mia because her skin is brown?” I turned it off right away and held her, and told her that Mia was safe, and we always take care of our friends. That’s when I learned the biggest rule for this age: resources don’t need to teach trauma to teach fairness. 5-year-olds don’t need to know all the bad things that have happened to people yet. They just need to learn that everyone gets a turn, everyone deserves to be treated kindly, and difference is okay to talk about.
Last week, I watched Lila stand on the playground next to Mia, when a little boy from down the street said he didn’t want to play with them because Mia looked different. Lila put her hands on her hips and said, “So what? Her skin is just different, and she’s way better at going down the twisty slide than you are. Come on, Mia.” It wasn’t perfect, but it was exactly what I wanted her to learn.
I’m still looking for new resources as Lila gets older, and I still mess up sometimes. Last week, I made an offhand comment about the smell of the durian my neighbor was cutting on their porch, and Lila said, “Mom, that’s rude, different people like different things.” I apologized, because she’s right. We’re all learning, right? For now, small, simple, everyday stuff is enough. This isn’t about raising a perfect kid who never says the wrong thing. It’s about giving her the space to ask questions, and building a base of kindness she can build on later. So far, that’s working for us.
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