I have a confession to make. My oldest daughter's favorite book, when she was two, was "Little Black Sambo," by Helen Bannerman. I feel like I should whisper ashamedly to admit that. Sambo has developed a cult hatred by those who believe the book to be racist and stereotyped. I looked at the images and concepts inside out and can't find any problem with. And normally, I would be the first to object. Granted, I didn't grow up in the era when it was written. So I can't speak to Bannerman's perspective. But then none of us living now were living in 1898, no one can claim to know what prompted her. I can find no shame of, only love for her main character in her writing.Initially, I had no idea people found it racist, but even when I found out, I didn't stop reading it. Sambo is one of my favorite children in literature. And he was my daughter's too. How could I tell a toddler that I wouldn't read her favorite book? It's not like it was Penthouse! This is my apology (in the defense sense of the word) for and to Little Black Sambo. I'm connecting it to Black History Month because I think it should be read with pride and joy. An Apology for Little Black Sambo
