I wish my son had a race card...

I wish the race card was a real thing, something to be pulled out, like a red card, whenever someone wished to be treated fairly, or in my case as fairly as my Caucasian friends.

I would have carried my race card with me when I was nine and my teenage neighbour thought it funny to shout the N word and sing a racist jingle as I passed her house, every morning on the way to school. Her words still rang in my head as the teacher took the morning register.

 I would definitely have pulled out my race card a few years ago when a grown man roared the N word at me from across the street, threatening violence when I stopped to challenge him.

I didn’t need to see the video posted online to know that racism is still alive in my beautiful city. The foul mouthed tirade aimed at the unfortunate doorman, just doing his job on Sunday night, wasn’t the first of its kind but the optimist in me prays that it will be the last.

As a mother I try to teach my son patience when people innocently ask what country he is ‘really from’. Just as I try to educate those who believe that black people can’t swim. But how can I teach my children to deal with hate, with someone who has decided to judge and despise them just for skin they were born in?

I hope the ladies in the video woke up on Monday morning feeling deeply ashamed of themselves. I hope that they apologise to the doorman they subjected to such vile racist abuse. But above all, I hope the doorman can find it in his heart to forgive them.

Forgiveness is the only lesson I can teach my son when dealing with this kind of racism and it’s about so much more than those being forgiven. 

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