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It all began with a toy bubble gun. My son, ecstatic that it was allowance day, had been pleading with his dad to take him shopping. They returned home with a few items, including a purple bubble gun. Generally, we have a strict no-toy-guns policy, allowing only foam-bullet guns for basement play. I wasn’t happy about this new addition, but knowing it was a cheap toy that would lose its appeal quickly, I let it slide.
One afternoon, while my son was joyfully shooting bubbles for his little sister, the mail carrier arrived with a package. As I thanked him and he drove off, my son playfully pointed his toy gun at the truck. I was shocked. I quickly got down on his level and firmly told him he must never aim a gun, real or fake, at anyone or anything. I reminded him that this could be dangerous and could potentially get a Black male in America killed. The tragic story of Tamir Rice loomed large in my thoughts, reminding me how easily a playful gesture could lead to tragic consequences.
My son listened intently, his demeanor growing serious. My heart raced as I sat back in a lawn chair, questioning whether I had responded appropriately. As a white woman, I’ve been conditioned to see the police as protectors, individuals who keep me safe from wrongdoers. I benefit from a privilege that my four children, all of whom are Black, do not share. It struck me how easily I had overlooked this reality, especially just weeks later when I had to call the police to our home.
While outside with my younger children, we suddenly heard two distinct shotgun blasts. Growing up in the countryside, I recognized those sounds, but it’s not something you expect to hear in our suburban neighborhood. My husband, working from home, rushed outside to check on us. We decided to call the police.
Within minutes, a young white officer arrived and asked for details about what we had heard. He was in and out quickly, patrolling the area for any signs of trouble. Just as he was leaving our driveway, my son asked, “Mom, is the officer here to kill me?”
At just eight years old, my son is already aware of the troubling narratives surrounding police interactions with individuals who look like him. Although we don’t watch the news at home, the realities seep in through social media, discussions, and the all-too-familiar “talk” that Black parents give their children to prepare them for encounters with law enforcement.
I knelt beside him, holding his hand, and reassured him that the officer was there because I called after hearing the gunshots. But my son’s expression told me he didn’t believe me. He repeated his question, and I reassured him again that everything was fine.
But are they really fine? For me, as a white person, things often are. We hear one narrative about the police, while I must equip my children with a different understanding of their reality as Black individuals in America. It’s about teaching them how to interact with officers, the importance of keeping their hands visible, and avoiding running or yelling in public spaces. It’s about being cautious in stores and ensuring they always have a receipt for purchases, regardless of how small.
I must supervise outdoor play and playdates more closely than others might. While many parents embrace a free-range approach, for my children, freedom can be perilous when someone like “Permit Patty” or “BBQ Becky” decides to call the police on them just for enjoying their youth. Building relationships with other parents becomes essential before allowing my child to visit their home.
Even with precautions, my children’s brown skin can be perceived as a threat by those influenced by systemic racism. Sometimes, people don’t even realize it. It manifests in subtle ways, like clutching a purse when a Black man enters an elevator or promoting colorblindness without engaging in real anti-racist actions. Racism is relentless, and it can invade our personal spaces, leaving my children vulnerable.
I have made mistakes and spent sleepless nights questioning my choices. I lean on advice from Black adults to raise my children, constantly learning how to be more anti-racist while also fostering their confidence as Black individuals who deserve to be safe.
I refuse to present a false narrative, as that won’t shield them from harm. Polite gestures mean little when it comes to protecting Black bodies. I’ve explained to my children that while some officers genuinely care and work to serve their communities, many perpetuate a system that disproportionately criminalizes Black individuals. We cannot predict how an encounter with law enforcement will unfold, but we know the system doesn’t favor my children. Thus, we choose caution.
For many white children, police are community helpers who hand out stickers and run educational programs. For my kids, the police represent another potential source of systemic racism. It’s my responsibility as their mother to equip them with the skills they need to navigate this reality safely.
If you want to read more about related topics, check out this blog post. For authoritative information, visit Make A Mom and Healthline.
Summary
The article discusses a mother’s experience raising her Black children in America, highlighting the stark differences in how police are perceived based on race. It reflects on a particular incident where her son questioned whether the police were there to harm him, illustrating the impact of systemic racism on their lives. The mother strives to teach her children the realities they face while navigating a world that often discriminates against them, emphasizing the need for awareness, preparation, and caution.
Search Queries:
- How to talk to kids about police
- Understanding systemic racism in America
- Parenting Black children in a racist society
- Safety tips for kids of color
- The importance of teaching anti-racism to children
Keyphrase: Raising Black Children in America
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