“What I Learned Looking for Anti-Racism Resources for My 5-Year-Old”
My daughter and I were sorting laundry last month when she picked up her favorite rainbow socks and said, “Mom, why is Noah’s skin brown but mine is peach?” She said it the same way she asks why the sky is blue—curious, not charged. I remember pausing, holding a pair of tiny underwear, and realizing I didn’t have a smooth answer ready. I fumbled through something about melanin and then changed the subject to the washing machine.
That night, I went down the rabbit hole. I typed “anti-racism resources for 5 year olds” into my phone while waiting for her bath to fill. I found a lot of lists, but most of them felt either too heavy or too vague. Some recommended books about police brutality. Others suggested I “let children lead the conversation,” which sounded good but didn’t help me figure out what to actually say when she asks about a brown-skinned friend at preschool.
The truth is, I’m not an expert. I’m a mom who wants my white kid to grow up understanding that people of all races deserve equal respect and opportunity, and that it’s okay to notice skin color without making a big deal out of it. But figuring out how to do that at age five has been messier than I expected.
The first thing that helped was finding a few picture books that didn’t treat race as a problem to be solved, but as a normal part of the world. We picked up The Colors of Us by Karen Katz and All Are Welcome by Alexandra Penfold. They’re gentle. The characters have different skin tones, and the stories are about everyday life—cooking, playing, going to school. When we read them, my daughter doesn’t ask big abstract questions. She just points and says, “Her skin is like my friend Maya’s.” That’s it. And that’s actually the point.
I also learned that at this age, what matters more than any specific book is how I react in the moment. One afternoon at the playground, my daughter loudly announced, “That lady has a funny voice!” as a Black mother called across the playground to her son. I felt my face get hot. I wanted to shush her, but I didn’t. I knelt down and said, “Her voice isn’t funny. It’s just different from the way we speak. It sounds nice, doesn’t it?” The mother looked over and gave me a small nod. I don’t know if that was the right response, but it was the one I had.
Afterward, I realized that the real anti-racism work for a five-year-old isn’t a curriculum. It’s the small, repeated things: not shushing questions, not pretending race doesn’t exist, and making sure the books and shows around them reflect a world that isn’t all white. We had to actively add more Black, Brown, and Asian faces to her environmental rotation. That meant checking the library cart, swapping out some of her favorite shows for others. My husband and I watched The Magic School Bus episodes more carefully, looked for diverse background characters, and bought toys that aren’t all pasty-skinned. It feels like a drop in the bucket, but it’s a drop.
What didn’t work for us, at least yet, was sitting down for a “big talk.” I tried once. I read a children’s biography about Rosa Parks, thinking it would be inspiring. My daughter asked why Rosa had to sit in the back, and I stumbled through an explanation about unfair rules and people being treated badly because of their skin color. She got upset. Not because she understood racism, but because she heard the word “badly” and thought Rosa was sad. We closed the book early and baked cookies. I felt like I’d failed.
But a few days later, she saw a picture of Martin Luther King Jr. in the hallway at her preschool and said, “He’s the man who told people to be kind to everyone.” She said it cheerfully, like she knew something good. That was when I understood: at five, the point isn’t to explain systemic oppression. It’s to build the foundation that skin color doesn’t change a person’s worth. The nuances can come later.
I’ve also started paying attention to the language I use in everyday moments. Instead of saying, “He’s the Black doctor,” I try to say “He’s the doctor, and he has dark skin.” It seems like a small shift, but I want her to hear that race is a descriptor, not a label that defines someone. Similarly, if we pass a protest sign or hear news in the background, I don’t over-explain. I just say, “Some people are working hard to make sure everyone is treated fairly.” That seems to satisfy her and doesn’t spark anxiety.
There’s also a practical side that took me a while to get: I had to check my own comfort level. I was avoiding some books because I wasn’t sure how to read them aloud. What if there were words I didn’t know how to handle? What if my daughter started crying? But kids tell you when they’re ready. My daughter asked about a picture of a segregated fountain once, and I just said, “That was a time when people were not allowed to drink from the same water fountain because their skin was different. It was unfair, and people worked to change it.” She nodded and moved on. The fear was worse than the conversation.
Right now, our approach is pretty simple. We have a small shelf of books with characters of many backgrounds. We talk about skin color like we talk about hair color or favorite foods—as a way people look, not a reason to judge. When my daughter says something awkward, I try not to scold or overly praise her. I just model a calm, respectful response. And I’ve accepted that this is a long, ongoing thing. She’s going to say things that make me cringe. I’m going to make mistakes too.
Last week, she drew a picture of her preschool class. She gave every kid a different shade of crayon, including herself as bright peach. She was very proud of it. I pinned it to the fridge. It’s not a perfect solution to racism, obviously. But it’s the right starting point for a five-year-old who is just beginning to notice the world and figure out where she fits in it. I don’t have a script for this. I’m making it up as I go, but I’m at least making the effort. That has to count for something.
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