Oh, Baby

The funniest example of racism in action I ever saw was during the classes my wife and I took at the hospital where we were going to have the first (and, as it turned out, all) of our children.

It was a combined birthing and baby care class, designed to teach about both pregnancy and childbirth and how to care for the new baby during the first few weeks of life.

To say it was a room full of nervous people would be an understatement. During every sentence of the nurse who was teaching the class' description of labor and delivery, someone would gulp. The occasional moan or muttering was part of the soundtrack as well. But the nurse was confident, breezy and a very warm person, and she assured us that all would turn out fine.

Still, the atmosphere was pretty heavy for the first two sessions, which were about pregnancy and childbirth. But things got much better, at least for me, during the third session, which was devoted to infant care.

One of the other fathers-to-be in the class was a little older than me, probably around 40. (I was 36 at the time.) His shirt of choice was the wife beater, and his decoration of choice was the tattoo. His wife, a pretty, petite (except for the pregnancy part), much younger woman, was quiet, friendly and sweet, everything he was not. "Jerk" would have been too kind a description for him, but hey: I didn't have to live with him.

During the first couple of sessions, he had communicated two things continuously: 

he didn't want to be there and was only going as a favor to his wife (and no doubt demanded sexual favors in return as soon as they returned home after every class)

he was a racist.

At the third session, the nurse brought out a big box of soft baby dolls, so we could learn how to carry, diaper and care for a newborn. Most of the dolls were white, but there was one African American doll.

My respect for the nurse soared when she, while passing out the dolls, handed Mr. Racist the African American doll with a straight face. His expression was worth the price of the class.

As the rest of us cuddled, cradled, diapered and "fed" our dolls, Mr. Racist attempted to swap his doll with someone else's, tried to "accidentally" lose it, and treat it as if if had a bad smell. The nurse, again with a straight face, would gently admonish him: "Don't forget to always support your baby's back and head," she noted as he tried to carry the doll by the ankle as if he was about to toss it away. "Your baby won't be able to relax and drink from her bottle if you're rough with her," she observed when he was anything but gentle.

At the end of the class the nurse handed out an evaluation forms. "I got a lot more out of this class than I expected," I wrote.

I wasn't referring to information about childcare.