Hi Reader,

Several years ago, I wrote a blog post about changes to my language that I was working on in my effort to be an antiracist parent. One of the language shifts I focused on was abandoning the phrases "good schools" and "bad schools."

Kids do pick up on these labels, even if they only hear adults use them when talking to other adults. From there, they form ideas about the children who attend these schools and the neighborhoods the schools are located in.

Today, I want to expand on that idea to think more intentionally about how we portray neighborhoods, especially those where the majority of neighbors are Black, Brown, and/or working class.

Two wonderful picture books published this year got me thinking more about this topic. Children absorb the positive and negative messages adults send about different neighborhoods, even when we think they aren't paying attention.

Those messages may come from news coverage, off-hand remarks adults make, which neighborhoods adults feel safe driving through, or a heightened police presence in some neighborhoods but not others.

In the picture book My Neighborhood (affiliate link) by Delano Brown, a young boy tells readers that his neighborhood "ain't perfect, but it's more than flashing lights seen on the six o'clock news." As the story continues, the child and his big brother Trevor introduce us to the local barbershop, where the owner makes everyone feel good and pays Trevor a few dollars to sweep up. At the local park, elders are willing to teach Trevor important lessons about chess. The narrator can't wait until he's old enough to learn. The basketball court, soccer field, and skate park are all places that are full of joy. It's clear from the story that there are many people and places that make the boy and his brother feel a deep sense of belonging and safety. This is a great read for ages 4 to 8.

Reflecting on the messages of My Neighborhood, I encourage you talk to children about the strong community ties that often exist in working class neighborhoods. When a neighborhood has been under-resourced (more on that below), people need each other to both survive and thrive. Trevor and his little brother rely on the elders in the community for wisdom and work. The illustrations show many forms of intergenerational community.

Another amazing picture book (by two antiracist educators who have profoundly shaped my thinking) also shows how important community care is in a majority Black working class neighborhood.

​Main Street: A Community Story about Redlining (affiliate link) by Britt Hawthorne and Tiffany Jewell, begins with a child named Olivia excitedly inviting her friends to Main Street's Annual Block Party. When a white child blurts out that she can't come because "my mom says Main Street isn't safe," Olivia is devastated. Fortunately, her neighbor Ms. Effie, an elder who's lived on Main Street for a long time, is there to tell Olivia more of the story. Decades ago, when the bank turned her down for a home loan because Main Street wasn't a "good neighborhood," the neighbors got together to form a co-op Building and Loan fund. As Ms. Effie and Olivia talk, they also see easier-to-spot forms of community, like Mr. Rick heading to the community fridge to fill it with vegetables from his garden.

Reading Main Street reminded me of the importance of big picture thinking when we talk with kids about under-resourced neighborhoods.

When we use an individualistic perspective, adults focus on what's wrong with a working-class neighborhood. That might mean talking about drug abuse (even though rates of drug abuse are consistent across lines of race and class.) It could include pointing out houses that people "don't bother to keep up" (without talking about the role of landlords or how much it costs a homeowner to make repairs.) Focusing on the individuals who live in a neighborhood often relies on stereotypes and incomplete pictures.

Instead, we can shift towards noticing with children how these neighborhoods have been treated unfairly.

Main Street does this by explaining redlining in a way that 6-to-10-year-olds can understand. (I also recommend the book for even older readers because it fleshes out the concept so clearly.) Ms. Effie explains that decades ago, unfair maps designated neighborhoods that were majority Black, Brown, and Jewish to be "hazardous." With the government and banks abandoning these neighborhoods, the neighbors still decided that "we won't abandon us."

The author's note at the end of the book suggests even more ways children can notice important things about their neighborhoods. These include ways that neighbors show up for each other, and how some neighborhoods are treated unfairly. Children can look at a local park and notice whether it has the equipment children need to play. For example, do the basketball goals have nets or just rims? They can look for whether there are enough crosswalks for people on foot or bicycles to travel safely.

This kind of noticing should focus on how governments are not providing what's needed to some neighborhoods, rather than implying certain neighborhoods are unsafe.

Finally, I encourage all of us adults, especially those who are white and/or live in middle class or wealthy neighborhoods, to question and challenge how we think about working class and Black and Brown neighborhoods. To prevent children from forming biases, we have to ask questions about and unlearn our own biases. This isn't overnight work, but a lifelong process.

Happy learning,

Rebekah

P.S. If you're an educator who wants to explore redlining with older children, check out this middle school lesson plan on redlining and environmental racism, or this high school lesson plan on redlining and housing segregation.

P.P.S. Talking about neighborhoods involves thinking about social class, something most of us don't have a lot of practice in. Check out my colleague Shayla Reese Griffin's new picture books about class, which will be released on October 6.​

Rebekah Gienapp (she/her/hers) | rebekahgienapp.com | Connect on Instagram | Coffees for Gaza | Knit 4 Justice​