We Need More Black Children's Books On Borders's Bookshelves NOW.

My neighborhood Borders was running a children’s book drive for a local hospital and since Denene loves the children and books, I offered to purchase two books for donation. Grateful I was participating, the cashier offered up a stack of books for me to choose from. And what do you know, not nan one of them—save for a lone "Princess and the Frog" book buried all the way in the back/bottom of the pile—featured children of color.

Not. One.

Now, you know how I do: I’m a huge proponent of children’s books featuring characters that look like my girlpies, and I’m especially gangsta about getting these books into the hands of ALL children, not just black kids (as chronicled in my post EVERYBODY Should Read Black Children’s Books). So I insisted that I be able to by-pass Borders's pre-selected (white-washed) offerings to select and donate a few of my favorite children’s books from the children’s section.

Problem was, they didn’t have any black children’s books. There was no "Ruby and the Booker Boys." No "Tar Beach." No "Wilhemina Rules." No "Pruella and the Boo Hag" or "Dancing in the Wings" or "Home Made Love." Not one book with a child of color—ANY color—up on those shelves, within arm’s reach for kids to grab and read and giggle at and enjoy. And with every second I had to dig, my anger became more palpable—much to the chagrin of the Borders employee charged with helping me pick books to donate.

Me: I’m not really clear why there aren’t any books for or about children of color here.

Borders Chick: Well, if no one buys them, we don’t order them.

Me: Well if they’re not here to buy, then it’s kinda hard for us to buy them, isn’t it?

Borders Chick: It’s headquarters that decides what books will be stocked, so my guess is they have more of a selection at Stonecrest Mall. (Note: This would be the “black” mall. About 40 minutes from where I and many other black moms who buy books for our children actually live.)

Me: *massive side-eye* I don’t live near Stonecrest. I live two minutes from this store.

Borders Chick: I found one! *triumphantly waving in my face a copy of Sharon Draper’s “Sassy,” which she dug from the back of a dark shelf near the floor. As if she'd just found the solution to world peace.* 

Me: *another massive side-eye and a lip twist* Y’all need to do better.

I was still ranting by the time I made it to the register with my book donation purchases—the lone copy of “Sassy,” and a copy of my latest book, “Miss You, Mina,” a tween book in the popular Scholastic Candy Apple series. (Amazingly, they had three copies in the Candy Apple section, but it took longer than it should have to convince another Borders Chick that I was the author and that it would be a good thing if I autographed my book.) While it is honorable that Borders was collecting books for kids, why didn’t it occur to them to include a mix of books that feature kids of all races—white, black, Latino, Asian, Indian or whatever?  And why should I have to drive 40 minutes to the “black” store to get black books for my kids? And good God, why was the Borders Chick STILL perpetuating the ridiculous notion that somehow, books featuring black children should only be purchased and read by black children?

“I mean, I’m buying 'Artemis Fowl'—arguably, a white book—for my daughter, who clearly is African American," I said, handing over my debit card to pay for the two black books and the third in the Artemis Fowl series, which Mari is completely flying through as I write this. "Why shouldn’t her kid read ‘Miss You, Mina?’” I demanded, jabbing my finger at the white woman waiting on line behind me, trying her best to pretend like she wasn’t listening to the conversation.

The cashier shrugged and mumbled something about corporate making those decisions and it all being out of her hands. Curiously, corporate didn’t seem to have a problem filling up the “African American Interests” section with a crap load of street fiction titles so risqué I had to steer Mari clear of it, lest her 11-year-old eyes got singed by shelf upon shelf of book covers featuring scantily-clad vixens and chocolate hot boys in compromising porn positions. Apparently, none of us should have to drive 40 minutes out of the way for the mess that makes us look like a bunch of sex-addicted, skank stripper hoes chasing random peen between drug deals and jail breaks. Nope: Those car rides, which use up a good $15 worth of gas, are reserved for $4.99 black children's books.

I’m. Tired. Of. This.

Exhausted, really.

Aren’t you?

And more importantly, what do we do about it? I’m open to suggestions…

Readers, Readers, Everywhere!

By Nick Chiles

What a beautiful sight it was to behold. Children from 85 schools here in Georgia, all giddy from excitement and nerves, crammed into a basketball gymnasium. No, they weren’t there for some basketball playoff game. It wasn’t even a sporting event. They were all there because they shared one thing: they all loved to read. It was the annual Reading Rally academic competition in Gwinnett County, Georgia, where teams from elementary, middle and high schools in the area square off to see who can answer the most questions about a stack of books that all the competitors have been assigned to read.

For months, our daughter Mari would wake up early on Friday mornings so that we could drive her over to her elementary school where she would practice with the rest of her reading team. At Mari’s school, the squad is called The Pageturners. While Mari is a stud on the soccer field, she’s also a voracious reader who was looking forward to bringing her competitive instincts to the academic arena. She’s one of those kids who gets so absorbed by a book that she sometimes tries to keep reading while she’s walking down the stairs. We have to tell her to put the book down for just a second so she won’t break her neck. But Denene and I are both thrilled by her love of reading, because we were the same way when we were in fifth grade and we know how much it can propel you to a sterling academic career. We have no doubt that our love of reading was instrumental in us becoming writers.

Mari and I couldn’t believe how many kids and parents were descending on the local high school where the competition was held. The traffic to get into the school was backed up down the road for at least a half mile. And when we walked into the building, I was amazed at what I saw: Hundreds of kids of every size and color imaginable. There were black kids and Hispanic kids and white kids and Asian kids. All wearing their special competition t-shirts bearing their school’s name and all nervous and animated, ready to do some serious battle. I heard a teacher from one of the schools walking behind me eagerly tell his students that the scene was amazing because “it’s like the Super Bowl of reading!” Indeed, it was the kind of sight that brings hope for the future. If there are this many eager young reading beavers out there, perhaps the next generation might be able to save us from our fool selves.

Once the teams broke up and went into the classrooms to compete, with us parents trailing behind, just as nervous as the kids, it was fascinating to watch them delve into the details of these great books they had been reading. Out of nearly 60 elementary schools, Mari’s team finished somewhere in the middle of the pack. But even though they didn’t walk away with a trophy or a medal, I knew that each of the kids in that gym were winners—because there is nothing as valuable to a budding academic career as a love of reading. These kids will undoubtedly soar.