WHY ARE BLACK BABIES BORN WHITE : DEX BABY PRODUCTS : ROOMS FOR BABYS.
Black on White
Share these familiar75% (13)
shapes with your baby.
It is never too early
to look and talk
Tana Hoban has created an elegant solution for those who want to initiate children into the infinite wonders of reading. This picture book compels parents to talk to their babies as they share the wordless pages with their little ones. Black illustrations on a white background provide high contrast for infants' underdeveloped eyes. Soothingly familiar, silhouetted shapes--a leaf, a key ring, a bib, an elephant--will be recognized by the very young, and through these simple pictures, aspiring readers will begin to identify the link between the objects they see and the words their caregivers say. Hoban, beloved author of many childhood favorites, including Black on White's companion piece, White on Black, as well as Is It Red? Is It Yellow? Is It Blue? and What Is It?, has struck gold again--black gold, that is. It's the perfect baby gift! (Baby to Preschool) --Emilie Coulter
96/365 - white
"see-through" -- andrea gibson we're on our way back to school from gymnastics class and only in boulder, colorado my kids are singing john lennon's "imagine" at the back of the bus when jesse stops herself mid-verse stretches her arm across the aisle like a sunbeam tugs at the hem of my shirt and asks what does hatred mean? jesse's five years old anything i say she's going to believe but i realize i don't know the answer i don't know what hatred means i could guess and say it's the opposite of love i could guess and say jesse, hatred's why there are nothing but white faces on our private-school bus but jesse isn't white yet go ahead and ask her what color are you jesse? well, it looks like i'm pink shane thinks he's orange skylar says she's tan rhett says he's see-through see, you can see how my veins are blue but they're red when i bleed and i wish there was no such thing as springtime because i don't trust the machines that will one day be planting seeds in these gardens teaching them some people are flowers some people are weeds rip the weeds by their roots ignore their screams tilt your own face to the sun take what you want you are the chosen ones Sitting Bull said white people are liars and thieves i'd like to tell jesse he was wrong i'd like to tell her we didn't come like a time bomb teeth built of bullets gunpowder on our breath that this land didn't weep when our feet first mercilessly hit the ground i don't want to say we drowned and maimed the children sliced long strips of their skin for bridal reigns i don't want to say the moon was slain the constellations dispersed like shrapnel mother's killed their babies then killed themselves when they saw our faces on the horizon and all that we left was a trail of tears but if i have to say that i want to say the boats stopped there i'd want to say the eaves never saw the sails of slave ships never heard the sound of chain links but jesse think slaughterhouse think people branded suffocating foaming at the mouth can you imagine what kind of pain you would have to endure to throw yourself overboard 2000 miles out to sea lungs gratefully engorged with saltwater can you imagine being chained to your dead daughter how many days would it take you to stop searching her hands for lifelines to stop searching her fingertips for memories of sunshine to stop searching her wrists for a pulse for just some sign of time turning backwards to when you just knew people would never do things like this and jesse this is not just a picture of our history not just a picture of our past we've been hundreds of years measuring the size of their hearts by the size of our fists erecting our bliss on the broken backs of dark skin the present is far from gift wrapped ask new orleans ask mothers in the south bronx chasing rats out of their babies cribs ask the fathers of the kids who's lives we exchanged for cheap gas ask our prisons why jail bars always come in black ask afghanistan palestine iraq ask the women in thailand who's cancers build our laptops ask the mexican man working in a field fertilized by nerve gas ask his daughter when she's born without fingers or hands to pray with (ask me how long i could keep going with this list) god might be watching but we are not you are white jesse there are bodies dangling from the limbs of your family tree our people pull people from the soil like weeds breathe in our story force yourself to hold it in your lungs til you can hear the hymns sung beneath white sheets til you can feel your own finger on the trigger of the gun feel yourself fire as they shout do not look away as bullet enters heartbeat now breathe out this is where we come from this is still where we are now where will we go from here i don't believe we're hateful i think mostly we're just detached but the math adds up the same we can't call up the dead and say sorry, we were looking the other way there are names and faces behind our apathy eulogies beneath our choices there are voices deep as roots thundering unquestionable truth through the white noise that pacifies our ears the voices are clear don't tell me we don't hear don't tell me we don't hear the moon being slain the constellations dispersing like shrapnel don't you think it's time something changedJesus Cries for Africa!
This is a prophetically revealed painting, one I did not plan but that developed as I worked into something I never would have done. Acrylic on 8 x 10 canvas board. Done as a demo for a lady student, later, the changes came. So it needs interpretation. It started out as a nativity scene of a baby in a manger. As I worked, I saw faces behind the child, one obviously Mary who showed a white cross in her face. Not joy but sorrow, Mother of Sorrows, Mater Dolorosa. The baby started out as Jewish but His features became of the African race. Another opposite, white becomes black. Then the blankets covering the child turned into the hill of Golgotha with 3 crosses at the top and the empty tomb in the base of the hill. Another opposite, birth becomes death and then death becomes resurrection, new life. Why 17 steps lead up to the cross? Not sure of symbolism there. Then the straw around the baby in the manger became a side view of a crown of thorns next to His head. There is another woman next to Mary as well as two men. At first I assumed it was others who stood at the foot of the cross like Mary Magdalene or the sister of the Virgin. Or St. John who we know was there. But the faces do not show that it is these, they have a haughty or disdainful look. Neither is it those at the birth of Christ like Joseph, or shepherds who are usually in a nativity scene. I am an end time artist and the Lord works thru me to reveal many end time scenes with messages in them. [I have posted just 2 others, The Warrior and the Wimp and Pray for the Peace of Jerusalem. The first calls for spiritual warriors to fight for baby 'Moses' who is being attacked by the shark. A skinny wimp sits on a couch, very laid back and does nothing. This is addressing the need to pray for Israel being attacked by her enemies. The bread with the Israeli flag on one slice only also calls for prayer for unity of the Jews with Messiah Christ.] ******** This painting with Jesus as a child of the African race also shows a message. Jesus weeps for the persecuted race of people of African origin, even as He weeps for Jerusalem. He weeps for the ones who were disdained and made into slaves by haughty and arrogant white 'masters'. He was born to carry the burden of suffering and pain. He lived and died with a great love for the downtrodden. He arose from the grave victorious over all sins of hate, racial pride, contempt, arrogance, persecution and torture of others. He lives today to be the Champion of the Poor, the Widow, the Orphan, the Defender of the Downtrodden, the Bondage Breaker. To be like Christ, Christians must walk that Via Dolorosa or Way of Sorrows, die to self, and take up that cross, that burden that Jesus carried for all mankind. His burden was for Jews, for Africans, for the arrogant persecutors as well. This painting is a challenge to follow Jesus and bear that terrible burden. Use this photo to remind yourself to be like Him and truly love others, really see Christ in others.
During the worst years of official racism in South Africa, the story of one young girl gripped the nation and came to symbolize the injustice, corruption, and arbitrary nature of apartheid. Born in 1955 to a pro-apartheid Afrikaner couple, Sandra Laing was officially registered and raised as a white child. But when she was sent to a boarding school for whites, she was mercilessly persecuted because of her dark skin and frizzy hair. Her parents attributed Sandra’s appearance to an interracial union far back in history; they swore Sandra was their child. Their neighbors, however, thought Mrs. Laing had committed adultery with a black man. The family was shunned. And when Sandra was ten, she was removed from school by the police and reclassified as "coloured."See also:
As a teenager, Sandra eloped with a black man, and her parents disowned her. The young woman, who had only known the privileged world of the whites, chose to begin again in a poor, rural, all-black township, where life was a desperate, day-to-day struggle against poverty, illness, and a legal system designed to enslave.
In this remarkable narrative, veteran journalist and author Judith Stone takes us on her own eye-opening journey as she and Sandra explore the mysteries of Sandra’s past and piece together the fractured life of one of apartheid’s many victims. As the devastating circumstances of Sandra’s life are revealed, Stone comes to understand and admire her for the flawed -- yet enduring -- survivor she is.
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