I wouldn’t have realized the gravity of the situation until it was almost too late. As we dashed across the parking lot, a pack of Mentos tumbled out of my son’s pocket, hitting the pavement with a clatter.
I hadn’t purchased those Mentos; my focus had been on some Batman shirts for a birthday party we were running late to. “Did you take those?” I yanked my son’s arm, turning us back toward the store. “Oh no, oh no, oh no. You did! What made you think you could just take them? You asked for them, and I said no! So you went ahead and took them anyway? Oh no, oh no, oh no. That’s it, no Chuck E. Cheese’s party for you! We are going home!”
“I saw them on the floor, so I thought it was okay,” he mumbled.
“That’s absolute nonsense, and you know it. You can’t take things from a store without paying! You do this when you’re older, and Mama won’t be able to help you. Do you understand?”
But how could he possibly grasp the weight of my words?
Storming into Old Navy, I dragged my son and his little sister behind me. With a mixture of fury and shame on my face, I approached the cashier. “We took this by mistake,” I admitted, placing the stolen candy on the counter.
Looking bewildered, she nodded, and we left the store. Ultimately, we went to Chuck E. Cheese’s anyway. I wanted to give the birthday boy his gift and explain the situation, but why should my daughter suffer for her brother’s mistake? We were there, after all. I made my son sit alone in time-out for the first hour, while he fumed silently.
As the party progressed, I decided he would have to go back to Old Navy and admit his mistake to the security guard and store manager.
His eyes brimmed with tears as he faced the two young white men, both under 30. They looked at my son, a sweet little brown boy who had made a typical childhood error, and their expressions were soft, almost apologetic. He hadn’t meant any harm.
Discussing this incident later with my mom friends—both black and white—they shared their own tales of youthful mischief. Everyone agreed I handled it right by giving him a time-out and making him return the candy. But deep down, I wondered if I was being overly cautious, fearing that this could lead to greater issues.
In a different world, I could say my reaction was an overreaction fueled by fear. But I knew better; the stakes are higher for children of color. Just the other day, a friend recounted how her “chubby white nephew” faced no consequences for stealing from a convenience store. Would the same have been true if he were a child of color?
I envisioned my son at 15, tall and muscular, facing a store owner determined to press charges over a minor offense. I felt physically ill just thinking about it.
Instead of being angry at my son, I should have been furious at the society that forces black parents to lie awake at night, worrying about the judgment their children face based on skin color rather than character.
It’s been decades since the great Rev. Martin Luther King Jr. fought for equality, yet here we are, still navigating a world where black parents have to prepare their sons for a harsh reality. Why is it that most white mothers are burdened with none of these fears?
Parenting can be exhausting and maddening, but raising a child amidst such a glaring double standard is a unique kind of madness. I felt overwhelmed, knowing this was just the beginning of a long journey.
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Summary
Navigating parenting as a person of color can often feel like a minefield of societal expectations and fears. This article recounts a personal experience where a simple childhood mistake by a young boy ignited a whirlwind of emotions for his mother, revealing the stark differences in how children of color are perceived in our society. The author reflects on the heightened stakes for her son, contrasting it with the experiences of white children, and shares the exhausting reality of raising a child in a world still fraught with inequality.