You really ARE Indian...

* Please note that all names have been changed for privacy, and to protect the innocent...

Last year when my son began Kindergarten I found that there were a few other Indian children in his school and in his class. I had high hopes for the prospects of his making friends with other children of course, but particularly with the Indian children.

As it happened, some of these other children already knew each other because they live in the same development and their parents were friends. The four children were comprised of a set of identical twins, Natasha and Asha and another little girl, Vrushali, who played with them and one other little boy. I thought that Z might have found a good friend in the other boy. He is bright, played soccer on an opposing team (and played quite well, as a matter of fact) and seemed to be confident. Unfortunately my visions of lasting friendship were dashed when it became apparent that this boy had some issues with wanting to dominate Z. This culminated in an incident in which the other boy snipped holes into Z's pants with scissors. Fortunately there were no injuries, but alas, the pants had to be trashed along with the prospects of lasting friendship.

In the meantime, the three little girls had established quite the little south Indian princess clique in Kindergarten. They sat on the school bus together, ate their snack together, and played at recess together, and rarely with anyone else. Some of the other mothers hissed in discontent, "In Kindergarten? Cliques? Have you ever heard of such a thing? Well, those girls moved here from the city with their parents, so they do everything early," were among the comments. Outwardly, I acknowledged some of their points and commented, "An in-crowd in Kindergarten? Well that's certainly unusual." Secretly, however, I was quite proud of them for drawing upon their ethnicity and for distinguishing themselves as such. Although I don't think that exclusivity is healthy at that age I privately wished I had such a strong support group when I was in grade school like that. My hope was that the other little kindy girls weren't whispering behind their backs and saying, "Oh them? They are the stuck-up Indian girls." I can see the humor in that in middle school, but in kindergarten, it might not be a good thing.

Z, being the sweet little boy that he is, decided that since friendship with Mukesh was out, he would try to become friendly with the Indian girls. He had an uphill battle, for sure, first and foremost for being so bold as to infiltrate the group and secondly, because he was a boy. These girls were not going to be willing to extend their attention to someone who wasn't one of them, and especially not a boy. The third obstacle, however, surprised even me. Z got off the bus one day grumbling that Vrushali, Natasha, and Asha would not let him sit with them or play with them, "...AGAIN, Mommy! And I did everything you said! I was nice, I was polite, and I asked nicely if I could please play with them." After another grumpy face and more grumbling, he said, "And there's more! Natasha said I'm not really Indian! She said I don't look Indian and I don't have an Indian last name, so I'm not really Indian! But I told her that you were Indian but she didn't believe me! I said, 'Yes I AM!!!" he insisted, and then paused. "Well, I'm Italian, too, but I AM Indian!!' "

It so happened that the next day was my turn to observe his class at school. No sooner than I had taken my seat, little Natasha came running up to me bubbling over with glee. "You're Z's Mommy? You look just like my Mommy! You really ARE Indian!" she exclaimed.

That afternoon when I picked Z up from the bus, he had a big smile on his face. I asked why he was so happy and he proudly announced that the girls let him sit with them and even play with them today. I said that was great and I was happy for him and that all of his kindness and politeness paid off. Then I inquired about what changed their minds and he said, "Well, Mommy, Natasha saw you in school yesterday. She came over to me and said, 'I saw your Mommy. You really ARE Indian! So now you can be our friend and play with us.' "

Ever since then there has been no question about Z's Indianness and he has been welcomed at the lunch table and at recess with open arms.