It all began with a simple toy bubble gun. My son, overjoyed that it was finally allowance day, had been eager to visit the store with his dad. They returned with several items, including a bright purple bubble gun. Typically, we enforce a strict no-toy-gun policy outside of foam-bullet guns that are permitted in our basement. Although I wasn’t thrilled with the choice, I knew it was a cheap toy that would quickly lose its novelty.
On the day the mail carrier arrived to drop off a package, my son was outside shooting bubbles for his little sister. As I thanked the mail carrier, my son playfully pointed his bubble gun toward the truck. My heart sank. I crouched down to his level, looking him in the eyes, and seriously warned him never to aim a gun—real or toy—at anyone. I reminded him of the dangers, explaining that as a Black boy in America, he could easily be misunderstood, and that such actions could, like in the tragic case of Tamir Rice, lead to serious harm or even death.
My son listened intently, his expression turning serious. As I settled into a lawn chair, I questioned whether my response had been appropriate. I am a white woman, raised to believe the police are there to protect me from danger. My race, socioeconomic background, and gender afford me privileges that my four Black children do not share.
Just weeks later, I had to call the police myself. While outside with my youngest two, we heard two distinct shots that sounded like a shotgun. Growing up in the countryside, I was familiar with such sounds, but in our suburban neighborhood, it was an unusual occurrence. My husband, hearing the noise from his home office, rushed outside to check on us. We decided to call 911.
Within minutes, a young white officer arrived, asking for details about what we’d heard. He quickly left to investigate the area. As he pulled out of our driveway, my son asked, “Mom, is the officer here to kill me?”
At just eight years old, he was already conscious of the dangers that some officers pose to people who look like him. Despite our attempts to shield him from the news, the realities of police interactions with Black individuals permeate social media, the radio, and the crucial conversations we have with our children about navigating encounters with law enforcement.
I knelt beside him, held his hand, and assured him that the officer was there because I called him after hearing the gunshots. My son repeated the question, still unsure. I reassured him that everything was alright.
But are things really okay? They usually are for someone like me. While I have a narrative that portrays police as protectors, I must teach my children a different story—one that prepares them for the challenges of being Black in America. It’s about knowing how to interact with officers, where to place their hands, and the importance of presenting themselves in public without raising suspicion. They must understand the necessity of keeping their hands visible and avoiding behaviors that could lead to misunderstandings.
I often find myself supervising outdoor playdates, something other parents may not think twice about. The reality is that free-range parenting can represent a significant risk for Black children. It requires building strong relationships with other parents before allowing my child to visit friends.
Despite every precaution, the color of their skin can be perceived as a threat by those influenced by systemic racism—often unconsciously. It manifests in subtle ways, from clutching purses to espousing colorblindness while avoiding the hard work of confronting racism.
Racism is an ever-present reality, and even in our own driveway, my children remain vulnerable to it. I have made many mistakes and spent sleepless nights wondering if I’ve done the right thing. I rely on the wisdom of Black adults to guide my parenting while striving to nurture my children into confident Black adults who will navigate this world safely.
I refuse to lull my children into a false sense of security; that would not protect them. I have explained that while some officers are genuinely dedicated to serving their communities, many are part of a system that disproportionately criminalizes Black individuals. We can never be certain which type of officer we might encounter, so we must proceed with caution.
For many white children, police are seen as friendly community figures. For my children, they represent a potential threat. As their mother, it is my responsibility to equip them with the tools necessary for survival.
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In conclusion, the challenges faced by my children in a society marked by systemic racism are profound and complex. As their mother, I strive to navigate these realities with love, honesty, and a commitment to their safety and well-being.
Keyphrase: The realities of raising Black children in America
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