You've got to be carefully taught

You've got to be taught to hate and fear
You've got to be taught from year to year
It's got to be drummed in your dear little ear
You've got to be carefully taught.

You've got to be taught to be afraid
Of people whose eyes are oddly made
And people whose skin is a different shade
You've got to be carefully taught.

You've got to be taught before it's too late;
Before you are 6 or 7 or 8 !
To hate all the people your relatives hate.
You've got to be carefully taught.....
You've got to be carefully taught.

--Oscar Hammerstein II

Children often do as they're told. If they're taught to hate, that's often what they'll grow up to do. If they're taught respect and tolerance for all people, and even celebration of our differences, that's what they'll grow up to do.

I was just thinking about this: one of the best things my parents ever did for me, when I was younger, was having me take swimming lessons, and later, go to a day camp at a center for children with disabillities. Both these programs were fully integrated. So for me, seeing someone in a wheelchair wasn't something to be pitied or gawked at - I learned, early on, that the fact that some people use wheelchairs or walkers, have hearing aids, or develop slower mentally was just a fact of life, much like people having different hair or skin colors, or speaking different languages.

I remember, when I was in junior high, our local school board implemented anti-homophobia workshops for all students. They were great, but parents were outraged! People were saying there should be an opt-out option, or that they shouldn't have them altogether. I remember seeing a news report on the topic, where an irate mother said "I do not want my children learning it's alright to be gay." And I just felt an immense sense of sadness, because she was teaching those kids to be intolerant. And what if one of them did turn out gay? How would she feel then? The school board did not continue the program the next year.

Kids are amazing. They have this great abillity to take everyone at face value - but only if you give them the opportunity to!

The point I wanted to get across here is, if you want to combat sexism, racism, homophobia, ableism, and whatever else, start with your kids. Expose them to a diverse group of people, and teach them that intolerance is wrong. They will listen.

When I first heard that song from the musical, I immediately realized how truthful it was. People really are taught and the only way the cycle will be broken is if people teach their children not to think like this.

Oscar Hammerstein 2nd.

:)

just last Sunday. Wise words to live by.

Right on. :)

:hug:

for some of the disabled kids (mentally and physically) in our community. I believe we were the first school in the area to try this experiment. We were very young and cruel. At first we made fun of them. Interestingly, the nuns didn't punish us. They simply kept preaching tolerance and love.

I don't know how long it took a week, a month before we ventured out to the "new kids". We were teaching them, helping them, loving them. We became fiercely protective of them and wouldn't allow any visitors to make fun of them.

I realize now that we weren't punished for our initial reaction because they wanted us to learn tolerance on our own rather than trying to force us to care. I also realize that we gained more from that experience than the disabled kids.

Precious memories.

I'm reminded of the story of the Dutch diplomat who "gave back" the 7 year-old they adopted at 4 mos. saying SHE didn't adapt and had "bonding problems." The child spoke English and Cantonese. Very little Dutch. What does that tell you?

Terrible.

is the archetype Wilhelm Reich wrote about in "Little Man." His wife, P, an amazing mosaics artist and I had lived in this building in peace and solidarity for a decade before he came along. I took care of her cats whenever she was away. I played music at their wedding.

I know she regrets her choice. He and I had a "falling out" one day after he pounded on my door screaming, "OPEN THE DOOR!" in police fashion. I answered with a how-dare-you-approach-me-in-such-a-manner. Turned out he was OUTRAGED that there was water in the *corner* (NOT the pathway) of the hall where I'd just done my indoor gardening. I mopped it up and then cleaned his clock, sending him running down the stairs.

That meant WAR.

Babykins arrived and he would not allow P to let me hold her. She worked and he stayed at home, teaching the child to fear me. She would SCREAM when she saw me. He held her up to the window as an infant and squeezed her arms when I passed by and waved at her. SO MUCH CRAP, I didn't tell P because there was NOTHING she could do.

Gramma (paternal) moved in and Babykins had a hard time putting together how Mama and Gramma were so kissyface and intimate with this "other" papa had taught her so carefully to fear.

Babykins figured out at 18 mos. this "other" was only dangerous when papa was around. So when he wasn't we'd dance together in the garden, play with the soccer ball and she'd tell me all about WHATEVER. I dropped her balloons from my window when I heard her outside and stopped for her in the hall, even if it meant I'd be hard pressed to catch my train. Of course, I ALWAYS remembered her birthday.

At 2 years old I'd hear "KARENA! KARENA!" whenever she heard me parking my bike. P would open the door and I'd ask for the day's run down.

Gramma deteriorated. One day I found her wandering outside and stayed with her until they got home. Papa came to my door and threw 10€ at me before running back downstairs.

Babykins is 3 now and GETS IT. She'll still only let me touch her if papa isn't around but she KNOWS. I wait patiently for a hug.