Every morning, my teenage daughter, who was adopted from Haiti, does two things: she checks the world news on her phone and asks me if we can go driving. It’s become an essential part of her routine.
However, yesterday was different. She walked into the room, silent and thoughtful. After a rare moment of closeness that felt nostalgic, she finally spoke, “Mom, did you see the news about Alton Sterling?”
I nodded and offered to discuss it. Just then, my younger son, also adopted from Haiti, came in, and I noticed her hesitate. She didn’t want him to overhear the conversation.
This dilemma arises for me every time a Black person is killed by police or targeted unjustly. It’s a question that echoes in my mind with each instance of racial hatred or ignorance that impacts people like my children. Should I bring this up?
Despite her youth, my daughter recognizes the importance of discussing these events. It’s crucial for us as her white parents, along with her white siblings, to engage in these conversations and advocate for her. She needs to remember the rules of interaction with police, rules that feel unfairly heavy.
It’s a grim reality that I hope other white parents grasp when they question the concept of white privilege. This dynamic creates an invisible barrier between her and her white friends, a weight that can stifle the potential of their friendships.
Later, she sat on the couch with her dog, browsing for a new phone case. She considered one with the black power fist or another featuring a stunning Black woman adorned with a crown, representing an African princess.
She didn’t ask to go driving yesterday.
When she woke up today, she didn’t check the news first. “Maybe hold off on the news for now,” I suggested gently. “Talk to me first. Take some time.”
As I weighed my words, I wished to protect her from these harsh truths. Yet, the reality is that she’s just months away from obtaining her driver’s license, a milestone that should be filled with joy. Instead, she is likely to wonder each time she gets behind the wheel whether she’ll be stopped by police, and if so, what the outcome might be. Will her image make headlines?
I’ll have to explain to her later this morning, after her dance class when she’s usually more at ease, about Philando Castile—a straight-A student who was tragically shot while reaching for his ID. His girlfriend’s young daughter was in the car, a haunting detail I know she will carry with her.
In preparation, I ordered her the phone case featuring the black princess, along with the one showcasing the power fist. It feels trivial to focus on phone cases, yet it’s a small action I can take before delivering the difficult news. The weight of these realities will settle on her heart, and I suspect she won’t ask to go driving today.
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In summary, navigating the complexities of race and privilege with my newly licensed Black teen is an ongoing challenge. The weight of societal issues is something she grapples with daily, affecting her youthful experiences and dreams.