Throughout my experiences as a mother, I’ve encountered various individuals who have quickly claimed my daughters as their own friends. These include flight attendants, strangers at the grocery store, a barista at a local café, their pediatrician, other parents in the park, and even the judge overseeing my younger daughter’s adoption. All these individuals, primarily white, have developed an intimate rapport with my 6-year-old and 6-month-old, often addressing them as “Girlfriend.” This is usually accompanied by a playful tone and even a little snap for flair.
It’s essential to acknowledge that I believe these individuals approached my beautiful daughters with genuine warmth. Intentions matter deeply. However, the language we choose to use is equally significant, especially when it pertains to people of a different race. At parks and grocery stores, I seldom hear the same friendly tone directed at white children. They are asked for their names and addressed appropriately.
When I express discomfort over hearing strangers enthusiastically call my daughters “Girlfriend,” some of my friends are dismissive. They question why I’m making a big deal out of it. One friend mentioned that she affectionately calls girls “Mamacita,” irrespective of their race, and wondered if that made her racist.
I’m not here to criticize anyone’s personal habits or language quirks; rather, I am highlighting a systemic issue that many Black mothers face. If you were to ask any mother of Black daughters how often her child has been referred to as “Girlfriend” by a stranger, she would likely run out of fingers to count. It’s no surprise that, at some point, a mother just feels the need to interject, “Stop.”
While these playful interactions may seem harmless in isolation, they can be demeaning when viewed within the broader social context. Referring to someone as “Girlfriend” implies a level of familiarity and relationship that has not yet been established. It bypasses essential steps needed to form genuine trust and connection and disregards personal boundaries, denying individuals, especially young Black girls, their right to assert those boundaries.
This behavior parallels the casual fetishization of Black women’s hair, where individuals might touch without thought or consent. Meanwhile, my daughters are inadvertently taught to accept such intrusive familiarity instead of learning the vital skill of saying no.
So, let me voice it for them: Stop.
I understand that you mean no harm and likely wish to connect with my child. I appreciate that sentiment. But I urge you to reflect on how you interact with her and other children who may not share her appearance. Use her name. If you don’t know it, it’s a signal that you don’t truly know her. True friendship starts with recognizing her humanity, not reducing her to a playful label.
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In summary, encouraging respectful language and establishing boundaries is crucial in fostering genuine connections with children, particularly those from different racial backgrounds.