Yesterday at the playground, a large group of school-aged kids, obviously in summer camp recess, invaded the swings and climbing structures en masse. The wee ones at the playground were outnumbered and outsized, and one by one, the young families left, presumably headed for safer play down at the lake. We were among the last to leave. We’re not bothered so much by big kids, I guess. Evan rather liked them, actually. “Big Kid! Big Kid!” But, eventually, we, too, headed down the path to the lake.”

Those basketball kids sure were craaa-zy!” Zoe said, as we walked toward the lake.

“Huh?”

“Those basketball kids.”

There was no mention of basketball at the playground. There was no basketball at the playground. There was no basketball court at the playground.

“Huh?”

“Those basketball kids.”

“Oh. Ok.”

Now for the Hmmm part. Every one of the older kids from the summer camp was black.  African American. Honestly, I’ve never made mention of race or ethnicity to Zoe. She’s never made mention of it to me, either. The longer it remains a non-issue, the better. Preferably, forever. Did she make an innocent association between who she sees when she watches basketball on TV and who she saw on the playground yesterday? Or is it merely her World-weary (nay, U.S.-weary) mother making this association for her?

Hmmm. All the more reason I hope it will remain a non-issue forever.