At bedtime last week, my daughter Clara was flipping through a picture book we’d borrowed from the library. It was a simple story about a bear learning to ride a bike, nothing special. But she stopped on a page where the bear crashes into a hedge and said, out of nowhere, “Why are those kids in the park only playing with each other?”
I looked closer. In the background, the illustrator had drawn a small group of children—two Black kids playing together, a few white kids nearby, not interacting. Honestly, I hadn’t noticed it until she pointed it out. I fumbled. “Maybe they just met each other,” I said, which was true enough, but I could feel that she wasn’t really asking about the logistics of playground groups. She was noticing something about difference, and she was trying to figure out if it meant anything.
That moment caught me completely unprepared. I had not thought about needing an “anti-racism curriculum” for a five-year-old. She still believes the moon follows our car home. But she had seen something, and she was waiting for me to tell her what to think about it.
So, like a lot of parents, I went looking for help. And I quickly found that the internet is not exactly calm on this subject. There are reading lists for adults, scholarly articles about implicit bias, and a whole lot of strong opinions. But finding something that a five-year-old can actually sit with—without shutting down or losing interest—took some digging.
I learned a few things along the way, and I’m still learning. But if you’re in that same place, where your child has started asking questions that feel too big for their age, here’s what’s been useful.
The first thing that helped was realizing that I didn’t have to explain everything at once. For a five-year-old, anti-racism is not about the history of redlining or the complexities of systemic oppression. It’s about fairness, kindness, and noticing the world. It’s about answering their questions honestly, without making it heavier than it needs to be.
Clara’s question about the park wasn’t a demand for a lecture on segregation. She was asking, “Is it okay that those kids are separate?” My answer, after I calmed down, could have been simpler than what I gave her. Something like, “Maybe they’re friends who came to the park together. There are lots of reasons people play in groups.” That’s accurate and calming. It also leaves room for more questions, which is exactly what you want at this age.
After that bedtime moment, I ordered a pile of picture books. Not all of them were explicitly about race, because diversity in books is itself a form of anti-racist education. If a child only ever sees white protagonists, they absorb a quiet message about who matters. So one of our first changes was just making sure Clara’s bookshelf had faces of a lot of different colors, doing all kinds of things—going to school, baking, laughing, getting scared at night.
A few books that were specifically helpful: The Colors of Us by Karen Katz is a gentle story about a girl noticing all the different skin tones in her neighborhood—cinnamon, peanut butter, honey—and it normalizes the conversation without making it weird. Something Happened in Our Town is a more direct look at an incident of police violence, and honestly, it was a little too heavy for Clara last year. We’re holding onto it for when she’s older. Hair Love by Matthew Cherry isn’t about racism at all, but it’s about a Black father caring for his daughter’s hair, and it’s become one of Clara’s favorites. It gives her imagery of Black joy and family love, which is just as important as books about struggle.
I also found that television can do some of the lighter lifting. Sesame Street has done a lot of work on racial literacy, and their episodes about skin color and fairness are genuinely age-appropriate. There’s a moment where Elmo and Louie talk about how skin comes in different shades, and they use the analogy of someone getting a sunburn to explain why people shouldn’t be treated differently based on color. Clara was more interested in the fact that Elmo had a sunburn, but the seed was planted.
What I’ve come to realize is that the resource isn’t the book or the show. It’s the conversation that happens around it. A five-year-old isn’t going to sit through a lesson. But she will absolutely sit on my lap while we read a book, and she’ll naturally stop on a page and say, “Why is that character treated so mean?” That’s when the real work happens.
I’ve learned to ask a lot of follow-up questions instead of giving answers. If Clara says, “That’s not fair,” I ask, “Why do you think it’s not fair?” Sometimes she doesn’t know, and that’s fine. Just putting the word “fair” on the table gives her a way to think about it. Other times she says something surprisingly deep, like, “Everyone should be allowed to play,” and I know she’s getting it.
There are also concrete little moves that have made a difference. I stopped saying things like “People are just people” or “We’re all the same underneath.” I used to think that was the safest thing to say, but it actually shuts down the conversation. It tells a child that noticing skin color is impolite. But pretending not to see race isn’t anti-racism; it’s just blindness. So now I try to say things like, “Yes, her skin is darker than yours. Isn’t it neat how families look different?” That sounds awkward as a written sentence, but in the moment, it normalizes observation rather than making it taboo.
Another practical thing we started doing was diversifying her toys. That might sound like a stretch, but it’s not. When Clara plays with dolls and figurines, she’s building her inner world. If everyone in her toy box is white, she’s practicing a world where white people are the default. We added a few dolls with different skin tones and hair textures. She’s never commented on it, but they’re there, and they’re part of her everyday play.
I also have to remind myself that this isn’t a one-time conversation. It’s not like teaching her to tie her shoes, where once she gets it, she gets it forever. The five-year-old version of anti-racism is mostly just about showing her that difference is normal, that unfairness can exist, and that we talk about it without fear.
There was a moment recently that made me think we were on the right track. We were walking to the grocery store, and an older woman in front of us was wearing a hijab. Clara looked up at me and said, “Her head is covered.” In a previous version of my life, I would have said, “Shh, don’t point,” and felt embarrassed. Instead, I said, “Yes, some people wear headcoverings for their faith. It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Clara nodded and went back to pretending the sidewalk was lava.
It’s not a perfect moment every time. Some days I feel like I’m saying too much or too little. There’s no clear manual for how much a five-year-old should know about racism. I don’t want to burden her with the cruelty of the world before she’s ready, but I also don’t want her to grow up thinking it’s not there.
What’s working right now is the books, the open-ended questions, and the willingness to sit with the uncomfortable silences after she asks something I don’t know how to answer. We’ve built a little family habit of noticing things—skin tones, hair types, traditions—and talking about them without judgment. It’s slow, and it’s often messy, but it feels better than pretending she didn’t ask.
Please indicate: Thinking In Educating » At bedtime last week, my daughter Clara was flipping through a picture book we’d borrowed from the library