I don’t, and doubt I ever will, understand the “too young!” argument. It’s never, ever used by people who are concerned for children, it’s used by people who don’t want to face their own embarrassment, guilt, or other complicated feelings about the topic at hand.
Guess what? If a kid is too young for a topic, she won’t talk about it. Seriously. If she’s bringing it up, she wants to talk about it, and if she’s capable of stringing three sentences about it together, she’s capable of understanding several more.
8 is not a baby. Not biologically, not religiously, not neurologically, not intellectually. 8 year old girls, once upon a time, were learning to run households, were cooking over open fires and were raising their little brothers and sisters. 8 year old boys were speaking Latin and working algebra and could tell you the European succession for hundreds of years back. We way, way underestimate children’s intellectual capacity (as well as capacity for hard work) these days.
How old was I when I first became aware of racial differences? I don’t remember. Mom tells me I was about 3 or 4, and asked her in a very loud voice in public, “Why is that lady all dirty?!” I got some educatin’ that day when Mom discovered that a giant hole would not, in fact, open in the earth and swallow her up no matter how much she wished it would.
When did I learn about Rosa Parks? 2nd grade, Miss Walsh’s class. Many of us were actually crying real tears because “it just isn’t fair!” that Mrs. Parks was treated like that. So that would be 7 or 8 years old.
When did I get a full and nuanced understanding of race relations? I’ll let you know when it happens. I’ll be 38 in a month, and I’m often still stuck at “It just isn’t fair!”