Innocence and the "KooKucksKlan"

Yesterday was a long day. Full of meetings, conversations, and plans. A day like every other day that usually ends sometime in the early to late evening. I got home, mentally pooped from the conversations and feeling my introverted self, ready to just take a beat.

As I settled in, turned the TV on, and sank into the couch for a couple of mindless moments of TV, I realized our Wi-Fi was out. Fixing it was nothing that required brainpower, this type of stuff has been happening since I settled into my weekday habitat. After unplugging the modem, restarting the TV, I clicked into our local and available networks to find my Wi-Fi name. Simple enough right? Should have been the end of that saga. But not so much… To my surprise, I came across a very interestingly named Wi-Fi network… “KooKucksKlan” (emphasis on the K’s). Huh? Must be hallucinating. After 8 hours of back-to-back meetings, I don’t think I was mentally ready to unpack this. Was this new? “I don’t think anyone in the local Seattle area would be that insensitive especially during black history month”, I told myself. After being here for almost 10 years and witnessing the diversity efforts of folks especially in the local Seattle area, I was convinced that something this insensitive couldn’t be a thing here! See, I grew up in Essex, in a small town called Tilbury with a black population of 8 (and I know, I knew them all). I had seen, lived, and experienced overt racism so intense, I am still talking to my therapist about it… So, this passive-aggressive act still baffled me a little and took me longer to process than I thought. Still a little confused, I turned my TV off and then back on again thinking that I must have just been seeing things (PTSD does that to you sometimes) … yet. There it was. Unchanged, this time in what seemed like bigger, bolder, and brighter letters, “KooKucksKlan”. In my head I began rationalizing this, “someone must have thought this was funny”, “it’s clearly a joke”, “there are obviously no Klan members in my area”, all the things we do when we try to compartmentalize traumatic experiences as they happen. In our culture, this is referred to as rationalization (a defense mechanism) that helps us excuse inappropriate incidents with logical reasons to help justify or compartmentalize a situation. This happens when we say things like “they obviously don’t know any better” or “it’s not their fault, something bad must have happened to them”, or in my case, “it’s clearly a joke”. In a world full of readily available information, I have come to learn that there is no reason or excuse for ignorance. If at a random thought in my head, I can google “Homer Simpson’s salary” (because I have random thoughts like this) there is no reason I shouldn’t be able to educate myself on more insightful and smarter ways of doing things. After all, I taught myself how to ride a motorcycle and play the guitar in 7 minutes on YouTube, and I frequently read parenting books to help me learn how to be a better dad.

As the night went on, I couldn’t quite shake the feeling this gave me. Not only did this disturb me to my core, but I hadn’t even begun processing explaining this to my 7-year old who just started proficiently reading every and anything she could get her hands on (it’s a real problem now, no more conversations with my significant other using single L E T T E R ‘ S anymore). So of course, I wasn’t surprised when she sounded the words on the TV out and asked me what “a KooKucksKlan” was. If you read my last article, you’ll recall the conversation I had to have with my 12-year-old brother about being a black man in a foreign country and certain things he needed to be aware of to keep him safe. While that conversation was difficult, my brother was also 12, not 7.

So here I was, at this crossroad again. Thinking about the words I needed to use to answer her question as delicately as I could, but with words she would understand. If you knew anything about her, you’d know that she is literally the sweetest little girl with the absolute biggest heart. On her birthday she gave away some of her gifts to her younger cousin who cried because he didn’t understand the concept of gifts and birthdays, and wasn’t sure why all the presents had her name on them. A while back she also ran into the road without thought or care to save her younger brother from being hit by a car because he wandered into the road. My little girl routinely reminds me that there is nothing wrong with truly caring about people and being human in a world that sometimes seems inhumane. But, even with as big as her heart was it didn’t change the fact that the world would see her as another black girl (a different conversation we had to have early because a kid on the playground called her the N-word). As I stared blankly at the TV watching my daughter draw on her chalkboard, waiting for my answer, I began to feel myself drifting into my safe space. A space in my mind I had created as a little kid whenever situations that I couldn’t process in that moment were happening.

As I sat there, I asked myself, how do I explain to a 7-year-old that the Juxtaposition of this Wi-Fi name and the innuendo of its meaning have a deeply painful significance to our community? How do I tell her that in 2022 there are still people out there who see constructs from 1865 as the current order of the day, and continue to disregard the lives its existence was created to torture? Or even begin discussing the fact that the resemblance of these words sent shockwaves of anger, rage, fear, and disgust through my very essence. Simple answer. I just couldn’t. As a black man who intentionally took the time to learn about my past, and how to intelligently articulate and understand the systems built to disadvantage me, it wasn’t that I lacked the words. Not at all. It was that I shouldn’t have to consistently battle the world for my right to be in it, and frankly, neither should she. I couldn’t bring myself to reduce the level of innocence my daughter still had in her heart! But at that very moment, I felt like I had let her down. As though I had done something wrong by choosing to preserve her childhood innocence, and not being able to bring myself to educate her on lessons and insights that would keep her safe.

Sooner rather than later, I knew I’d have to come back to this moment and not only educate her on the historical context behind the meaning of a silly Wi-Fi name, but I’d have to tell her how I felt and continue to remind her that it is ok to feel those feelings.

Quite often when I discuss the Black Experience and what this means for people experiencing it, it’s moments like this that many people don’t quite understand. Frequent moments where people who look like me have to cut our children’s childhood short by teaching them adult lessons that will keep them safe and hyperaware. It’s no wonder sometimes in the black community we refuse to acknowledge the effects of mental health on our children... If you were a kid who could barely keep your eyes open at Disney movies when people got hurt, and suddenly you are being told about the history of segregated trauma (that really only legally ended 58 years ago), wouldn’t you have some kind of anxiety about the world? (But that’s for a different article). Its moments like this that place a greater burden on black children to mature faster and smarter than their counterparts because this maturity (in some cases) can be the difference between life or death for them. No parent, regardless of their ethnic background wants to see their kids mature faster than they need to because life (literal life) demands it. When we have kids, our jobs are straightforward. To provide emotional, mental, and physical love, safety, and wisdom to our children in hopes that they too will grow up, impact their worlds, and live fulfilling lives. As a parent, I am actively parenting my kids through lessons I’ve learned from my childhood in hopes of breaking any cycles.

So for now, I chose not to answer the question. I chose not to take innocence away from my daughter six days after she turned 7, and choose to keep silent until the day I am ready to discuss this with her.

As you go through your understanding of black history, learning about the culture that inspired this powerful month, I want you to take some time to practice a little empathy. Think about how moments like the one I shared above are happening repeatedly in the black community, and let’s discuss ways we can begin to support, uplift, and evolve the world so that all children of color can simply enjoy being children. ?