Photography courtesy of We Stories
Local teacher and We Stories family participant Beth Doht guides children through a lesson during one a We Stories Family Learning Program session. Children are grouped by age during the meetings to read stories, do crafts, and hear lessons on issues related to race and diversity.
The bedtime routine is typical. As on most nights, upon finally corralling our three children for bed, we sit down together for a story. They’re all cozy in their winter pajamas, and the relief is palpable as we leave behind the bustle of the day to enter another world.
Tonight’s tale, though, is a twist on what we’re used to. Amazing Grace presents us with the experience of a young girl whose obstacles, though relatable, are inherently different from ones we ourselves have faced. In author Mary Hoffman’s story, Grace is an African-American girl who, like so many children, is captivated by every great hero and heroine. And though she has all the spirit and spunk to be the perfect Peter Pan in her class play, some of her classmates aren’t having it. Why? Not just because she’s a girl, but because she’s black.
And that’s where our ability to relate to Grace begins to falter. As a white family, my wife and I have never had our dreams barricaded based on the color of our skin—and we know the same will hold true for our children. Thanks to the work of local nonprofit We Stories, however, many families like ours are discovering the power of children’s stories to open a doorway to understanding and empathy, and to change how we think and talk about race.
“Reading stories like the ones we include in our curriculum gives white children and their parents more opportunities to appreciate and to surface conversations about what's the same and what's different, and to consider the role of race in their own lives and in the lives of those in our larger community,” says Adelaide Lancaster, cofounder and director of community and collaboration for We Stories. “The beautiful thing about diverse children's books is they get unsure or apprehensive parents most of the way to a meaningful conversation. They open a door and provide a context for deeper family dialogue and the opportunity to learn together."
Photography courtesy of We Stories
We Stories Family Learning Program cohorts kick off with a family gathering featuring local actress and music teacher Alicia Like, who musically performs some of the stories families will read during their time in the program.
Lancaster and cofounder Laura Horwitz launched the nonprofit in 2015 with a mission to use “the power of children’s literature to create conversation, change and hope in St. Louis, and a stronger, more equitable and inclusive future for all.” Its aim is founded on a belief in the power of stories and conversation to change the way we see the world, and to reshape the vision we pass on to our children. By engaging participants with diverse characters—be they African-Americans, Native Americans, or any minority—and giving voice to their oft-untold stories, the program helps families reframe their perspectives and conversations around race.
While families of color are used to direct conversations around these issues, research shows that white families shy away from these talks, instead passing on their views and biases indirectly, not through conversation but through actions, choices, and attitudes. My own experience bears this. As a St. Louis native, I followed the same well-worn path of many white families. After beginning my life in the city, myself a white minority in a city school, my family eventually shifted to the suburbs, where I would spend my most formative years distantly acquainted with only a handful of black kids. At the time, few words were spoken in our home about the reasons for our change of scene, yet much was learned.
So when I returned to a post-Ferguson St. Louis after many years away, this time with my own children, I knew the time had come to actively challenge the many assumptions about race that were deeply imprinted on my mind and heart through growing up in St. Louis and living a narrative of racial separation. I just didn’t know how. When my wife learned of We Stories, we knew we had found a place to begin.
At the center of the organization’s mission is the Family Learning Program, which we experienced this fall. Three times a year, 60 to 100 families are enrolled in a cohort designed to encourage and embolden them in their conversations around race at home. A diverse group of volunteers and staff helps to frame the dialogue of the mostly white participants with minority perspectives and experiences in mind. Through children’s books with diverse characters and settings, parent resources revolving around a variety of themes, and guided group discussions in-person and online, parents work through their own biases and fears around such conversations.
The candor coloring these parent conversations has been disarming and refreshing, one of the most formative features of the program for us. We and other parents have opened up about our own trepidation and anxiety. What if, in hoping to shape our kids for the better, we actually increase their biases? What if they inadvertently hurt others by speaking about things they aren’t yet truly able to understand? How do we talk about race when, in our privilege, race for so long seemed irrelevant to us?
The goal of We Stories is to move white families like ours past these fears and toward a fresh and hope-filled imagination for not only their own homes, but for all of St. Louis. It’s a vision that embraces the beauty of diversity and the strength found in acknowledging and healing the divisions we have carved out over more than a century.
It’s a vision that is perhaps best summed up in the book that was skillfully performed by local actress and music teacher Alicia Like at We Stories’ opening session. In Bein’ With You This Way, author W. Nikola-Lisa gives voice to a childlike wonder tuned toward embracing difference. Whether it be the differences of straight and curly hair, or dark and light skin, these contrasts are “perfectly, remarkably strange,” making us “different but the same.” A growing contingent of families in St. Louis is embracing this dream, and it’s our hope—even if we stumble doing it—to bring these stories to life in our homes, region, and beyond.
