Gorgeous Princess Tiana (©2009 Walt Disney Company)

But, and I am almost embarrassed to admit this, I am almost equally moved by another historic moment that has taken place this year. Disney introduced their first black princess, Tiana. I don’t recall ever dreaming about being a princess or wishing for a fancy gown and tiara. I’m sure I had my moments, but it didn’t define my childhood. In many ways, it makes the moment all that much more poignant, because I often wonder how the lack of women of color in childhood media imagery impacted me.

As a bi-racial child raised in an all-white family, I was profoundly aware that I wasn’t white, perhaps even more so than children who grow up in families of color. I wasn’t just aware that I didn’t look like most popular movie stars or politicians. I didn’t “look like” the person who was most important to me: my mother (in reality, we look quite a bit alike). As with most kids, my mom was my hero, my inspiration, my idol. Yet, we were visibly different. From the earliest moments I remember, I remember struggling with that and with what it meant for my own future.

When I thought about the things I wanted for myself, I was certainly impacted by skin color. Despite my love of theater and acting, I generally avoided that path because most of the roles I saw were for white characters (it never crossed my mind that many of them could have just as easily been played by a black woman). I stuck with more generic occupations like teaching, television repair (an aspiration of mine when I was 6) and, finally, Imagineering. Yep. I didn’t dream of being a princess. I dreamed of being a Disney Imagineer and of creating Disney magic from behind the scenes. And that’s how kids’ minds adapt.

But what if there had been a black princess when I was a child? Would I have pursued different dreams? Perhaps. Maybe I would have become an actress or gone after “girlier” aspirations than engineering, science and math. I can’t possibly know. But I’m happy with my life path so far, and so I celebrate having a black princess now, when I’m totally ready to embrace my girly side. And you know the irony? My daughter doesn’t look like she has any African blood at all (except for some wildly curly hair). She can happily enjoy the various other princesses without seeking out one to match her own skin color. As for me, I’m donning my imaginary tiara and strutting my stuff.

Spunky Princess Tiana has already made her debut at the Disney Parks, but you can catch her in The Princess and the Frog starting on December 11.

Oh, and by the way, I decided to veer from the engineering path and my husband refuses to move to Florida, so my Imagineering journey is currently on hold, but… To the folks at Walt Disney Imagineering, if you ever need a quirky, techie gal in the Boston area (or for telecommuting) with an anthropology degree and an M.Ed. and who has a background in non-profit and tech work, give me a call. I’m fabulous, trust me.

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Bug ran up to me and said, “We’re all the same and you’re different. But you’re still my mama.”

And even though I knew what he was talking about, I was so shocked that I ended up playing dumb. I mean, I had envisioned some gentle questions about skin color, not an out-and-out division along color lines. “Different? Why am I different?”

“Daddy and Lady Bug and I are the same. You’re a different color.”

Anyone who knows me well knows that this is actually a sore spot with me. I was pretty bummed to have kids that can easily pass for white. There are a lot of reasons for why this bugs me and most are beyond the scope of this post. The least of which, though, is that having grown up the only brown person in a white family and a white neighborhood, I was kind of looking forward to blending in with my own family. Big Guy is as white as white can be so it wasn’t a surprised that my biracial pigment wasn’t enough to turn the kids brown, but I was still disappointed in the end.

“We’re all a different color, honey. Everyone is a little bit different.” Bug actually has an olive complexion. He tans well and looks like he may be Portuguese or Italian. LadyBug got my hair, but is more fair than even Bug.

“NO! Daddy and I are the same, but you’re not. You’re the same color as U (our cat).” As if I wasn’t already feeling saddened by the conversation, Bug seemed to be denying his black heritage. Plus, I got lumped in with our devil of a cat.

“You’re a bit darker than Daddy, honey. Go put your hand next to his and see.” At this point, I silently cursed out my husband for not joining in on the conversation. He doesn’t really understand, and I get that, but I was certainly in need of some support on this one. Out loud I strongly suggested that this was a conversation he might like to be a part of.

In the end, we managed to convince Bug that he was, indeed, his own color. It did not, however, take away the sting of having my three-year-old try to convince me that I am, once again, the minority in my own family. Or getting lumped in with the cat. The hardest part is knowing that this is just the beginning of years of difficult questions and conversations that are going to push all of my buttons. And then, as a parent, knowing that I have to leave most of my own baggage aside and allow my kids to self-identify just as I choose to do. After all, I have been fighting for years for my own right to identify as African American and Caucasian. It would be hypocritical not to allow my kids the same freedom. Even if it breaks my heart.

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2. Princess Dreams
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