My first son was born in South Africa. My homeland. My motherland. The place where my heart is buried deep beneath a jacaranda tree heavy with purple petals. Such a tree waits at the top of my parents’ drive to welcome guests. I would take you there if I could. It’s where my son’s best friend, closer than a brother lives. That’s them in the side bar on the “sweet stuff” button. Jackson and Karabo. Nose to nose, head to head, hand to hand, they were destined for friendship before Jackson was even born.
Karabo is my baby brother (pronounced Kah-ra-bauw). He is Jackson’s uncle. But these are the words grown-ups use. Because to Karabo, Jackson has always been “my baby” as in, “Give me my baby, Lisa-Jo”, “put my baby next to me, Lisa-Jo” “what are you doing with my baby, Lisa-Jo?”
To Jackson, Karabo has always been big brother, hero and best bud. Whenever we are home in South Africa I am either one child short or have one extra for the duration of the stay. Because Jackson and Karabo must do everything together at all times.
They see each other in technicolor, but it’s taken years before they noticed each other in black and white.
Kids crammed in the back seat of the car on the way back from a birthday party. Karabo sandwiched between two blond-haired, blue-eyed buddies from church. Jackson was still a car seat baby back then. Says the little boy, “Karabo, someone at the party told me you were black.” The little girl tilts her head, squints an eye and inspects Karabo closely, “What? You’re not black!” To which the little boy contemplatively responds, “Yea, you’re more like a dark grayish.”
Jackson watching a cartoon. One of his favorite characters is black. Someone asks him, “look, Jack, that little boy is just like Karabo.” Jackson responds, “Why?”
Just this year a couple weeks before Jackson turns four he is looking over my shoulder as I blog. He excitedly spots the picture of himself and Karabo in the side bar. He is thrilled. Then he pauses and looks closer and says, “Karabo is dark, mama. I am light. Look at that. Karabo is darker and I am lighter.”
Just like that. In the same way he might have said, “Karabo is bigger and I am smaller; Karabo is taller and I am shorter; or Karabo is in South Africa and I am in America.”
Just like that.
It makes me smile every time I see the two of them over there on the sidebar. This Tuesday, I wanted to pause and share the story behind my favorite photograph. In celebration of the ordinary.
{ 25 comments… read them below or add one }
I love your sons views
More than a few people could learn something from him.
Thanks. I learn from him on a daily basis!
SO happy I clicked on this link so I could see this beautiful photo too.
So glad you stopped by! This picture makes me smile and feel simultaneously happy and homesick on a daily basis
Oh I love this. The photo speaks so much, especially hearing how your little one sees it. thank you for linking up.
Ur welcome. And thanks for hosting! (PS I LOVE the kitchen I can make out in the background of your photo – even though I have boys, they have a play kitchen and it is their ALL TIME favorite play station!)
Love this! And the picture is absolutely priceless.
Thanks – it’s a rare moment to actually capture boys who are usually operating at warp speeds!
My children are getting older, 5 of them 11-20, and the words they speak sing to my heart , in hope and clear vision about colour, and ability, family styles, and inabilities. Beautiful .
I know, right? Their perspective is often so unique and unexpected. It blows me away all the time!
This is precious. I love how kids see things more clearly than adults. I remember when my brother started dating the woman who is now his wife. She was adopted as a baby from Vietnam. My son, who was not yet 4 at the time, said to her, You have such nice dark skin. We still laugh at that! He just thought her skin was pretty, not weird or different. Your son and brother are so fortunate to have each other and see each other for who he is: a beloved friend!
Yea, I always feel like the fortunate one to get a glimpse through their eyes every now and again!
Love this photo. And I love the story behind it even more. (Then again, you knew I would, didn’t you?)
Sure did. I love getting a glimpse through the eyes of kids – their take on most things is always refreshing, to say the least!
Oooh that got me all teary!
Kids! It seems you can always count on them to make you cry one way or another, right?
What a sweet photo and a wonderful view of the thoughts of children.
Thanks – coming from a photographer, that is a great compliment!
Oh man, all teared up at the awesomeness. I miss those guys
Me too dude, me too!
Hi there! Found you on twitter. Love love love this! Your heart sharing is wonderful but the photo says 1,000 words of the heart. May both of them be blessed always in their relationship.
Blessings!
Lisa
I’ve wanted to read the story behind your side-bar photo for a while now…
I love this…
Just discovered your blog today through a friend – love it! You write so beautifully!
Loved this post so much – we are all white but have a very multi-racial extended family, and the other day she announced something which we assume she got from her coloured cousin: “Mom, I’m black like my dad!”
They are so beautifully colourblind.
When my daughter was one and in day care we were leaving for the day and the bin with the dolls was sitting outside her class room. “Look Mama” she said “There is my baby and there is Denija’s baby.” Curious to to hear her answer I asked her why that one was hers and the other Denija’s. Her reply “cause they match us.” No judging, just matching. My grandmother who died when I was three years old taught me in a way that I never forgot that we are all the same. She had bought me an african-american doll. She asked me if I wanted some chocolate she gave me the doll and said it was a chocolate baby. I bit its finger and was mad that it was a doll and not chocolate. Then she handed me a white chocolate candy. I told her it was not the right color for chocolate because chocolate was not white. She told me to taste it. It was chocolate. Granny then explained people are the same on the inside no matter what our color is on the outside. I often wonder what I missed since she died, then I try to be thankful for what she taught me while she was alive.
I love the photo and I love the story. Brilliant.