Several years back, my family and I took a trip to Mount Rushmore. After exploring the trail that led to the famous monument, I decided to check out the bookstore with my 5-year-old son, Ethan, by my side. While browsing, he found a bookmark displaying oval portraits of all 44 presidents, and we sought out the four figures we had just admired on the mountain.
“Who is the current president?” Ethan asked. I pointed to the last face on the bookmark, saying, “That’s Barack Obama. He’s been our president since before you were born.”
Ethan, my fair-haired, blue-eyed boy, looked puzzled as he scrutinized the images. “Huh,” he remarked. “He doesn’t look like a president.”
I was taken aback.
As part of a multiracial family, I’ve spent years studying and discussing racial dynamics in America. I remember the overwhelming joy I felt on the night President Obama was elected. Yet here was my son, openly expressing that our first Black president didn’t fit his idea of what a president should look like. I glanced around the bookstore, startled by the weight of his observation.
In hindsight, his comment wasn’t as shocking as I initially perceived. It was a child’s innocent observation, akin to a simple game of “One of These Things Is Not Like the Others.” The singular brown face among the predominantly white ones stood out, making it logical for my son to conclude that he didn’t “look like a president.”
At that moment, I recognized that Ethan was blissfully unaware of the deep historical context surrounding his statement—centuries of oppression, institutional injustice, and the unspoken social hierarchy. The gravity of that reality struck me as I looked at his innocent face, prompting me to choose my words carefully.
“You’re right; he does look different,” I replied, infusing my voice with calm enthusiasm. “For a long time, American presidents have looked quite similar, but that’s changing now. We’ll see many different types of people in those positions moving forward. Isn’t that exciting?”
He nodded and shifted his attention to the candy bars, satisfied with my response. How wonderful it must be to be 5 years old.
One day, I’ll share this story with him, pointing out how it was his initial encounter with his own white privilege. We’ll explore how he can see his own skin color reflected in the vast majority of our nation’s powerful leaders and what that means for him. We’ll consider what Black and Brown children see in those rows of faces and how it impacts their perceptions. We’ll tackle the uncomfortable realities of our nation’s racial history and delve into the complexities of contemporary racism, aiming to understand our responsibilities as white Americans in addressing the systemic wounds that persist.
Too frequently, white privilege is misconstrued as merely a matter of opportunity or economic advantage. It encompasses much more. It’s about a child recognizing his most apparent physical trait mirrored in a lineup of our country’s leaders. It’s a moment when a student in my class, during a Martin Luther King Day lesson, proclaimed, “Whew! I’m glad I’m white.”
It’s reflected in the fact that we honor a national monument featuring four white faces etched into the sacred hills of the Lakota Sioux. It’s the understanding that the power structures in our society have historically favored us, with neither ourselves nor our ancestors facing oppression due to skin color.
As a white mother of white children, I cannot alter our country’s past or erase the existence of this privilege. However, I can ensure my kids comprehend how they and others are impacted by these realities, and teach them to utilize their privilege to advocate for justice.
President Obama indeed stands out among the others, his image marking a pivotal point in the narrative of U.S. leadership. My aspiration is that one day, my grandchildren will witness a diverse array of faces on the other side of that historical marker—representative of a broad spectrum of ethnicity and gender. A future where every child can see themselves in leadership roles, and where a 5-year-old can confidently declare that anyone “looks like a president.”
For those interested in learning more about the intersection of race and privilege, resources such as MedlinePlus provide excellent information on related topics, while Make a Mom offers insights into home insemination options. Additionally, Intracervical Insemination is an authority on prenatal testing that expands on these themes.
Summary
In reflecting on a moment from a family trip to Mount Rushmore, the author shares their son’s innocent observation about President Obama not looking like a president due to his race. This experience opens up a dialogue about white privilege, the historical context of leadership representation in America, and the need for inclusive narratives that allow all children to envision themselves in positions of power.