My Life as a Furry Red Monster - Kevin Clash [30]
I said, “Yeah.”
An awkward pause followed. I sensed what was coming next, but considering she was a friend, I wanted to give her the benefit of the doubt. I also wasn’t about to make it any easier on her. I braced myself for what she was about to say.
“We can’t do that.”
What she was really saying was We can’t kiss in front of everyone at school because you are black and I am white.
While I absorbed her comment, I could hear her mother in the background, clearly coaching her on what to say. Then my mom’s radar went off because she overheard what I was saying to my friend, and she got involved. The four of us were all talking at once and then this girl delivered the line that really devastated me.
“Kevin, I think you should step down and quit the role of Sky Masterson.”
I was stunned, but responded instantly and honestly. “What do you mean, I should step down? I don’t have a problem with it. You’re the one with the problem. I’m not going to quit—you should.”
When my mom heard me repeat the words “step down,” she went off, pouring words into my ear. I could barely take in everything she was saying, but I knew that the fury in her was coming out.
My mom was socially aware and outspoken for her time, and I can best describe her beliefs by mentioning that we had a photo of Angela Davis prominently displayed in our home, right over the TV.
Davis’s steely and defiant eyes stared down at me every time I sat in front of the living room television set, and it was difficult to ignore her and not reflect on her attitudes and beliefs. My mom’s convictions developed naturally—her mother was known in her neighborhood for standing up to injustice and circulating petitions on various social issues. Neither my mother nor I was going to give up easily. Mom had taught me that there were times when I’d have to stand up for myself and what I truly believed in—to know what fights were worth engaging in. And this was shaping up to be one of those battles.
The conversation could have gone on and on, but I’d heard enough. “This is your problem,” I told my friend. “You find a way to deal with it. I’m playing the role.”
She eventually went to the director and gave up the choice part of Sarah, opting to sing and dance in the chorus instead. (Ironically, the role of Sarah was awarded to an equally talented classmate who happened to be African American. Turns out she had a crush on me, and she had no problem with the kiss scene.) Months later, “Sarah” apologized to me, and the two of us managed to get along. I know her mother had a lot to do with it, but I could never completely get over the assumption that because this girl was white I should “step down”—which really meant know my place.
Thankfully, this was an isolated incident, and my parents instilled in me the idea that right and wrong were neither black nor white. They have lived that simple ideal their whole lives, and from childhood I learned to appreciate the differences in people without sacrificing my identity.
I DON’T THINK it was any coincidence that, from my earliest days, I gravitated toward Sesame Street—first as a show to watch and admire and then as a place to foster my career. From its inception, Sesame Street has championed the cause of racial and ethnic diversity. The street itself and those who live on it—humans and puppets—are a mix of colors, races, and ethnic origins. In recent years, the human cast has been even more inclusive with differently abled children joining in the fun. Whether they are in a wheelchair or live with Down syndrome, have brown skin or blue fur, talk with an accent or don’t talk much at all, everyone fits right in on Sesame Street.
Elmo, like most children, doesn’t make snap judgments or subtle assumptions based on race, gender, or physical differences, and neither did Jim Henson, who welcomed diversity in the workplace before it was considered the norm. I spent almost fifteen years around him, and all of us—friends, family, and colleagues—agree that Jim was color-blind. When Jim would sing “It