By: Jamila Carter
My son is biracial—half black and half white. He resembles me in many ways, yet he inherited his father’s fair skin. Depending on the sun, his complexion can appear as merely a tanned white kid. While some may say he looks mixed, it’s clear that in a room with just his dad, he doesn’t come across as black.
Initially, I felt a twinge of disappointment that he didn’t showcase more of his black heritage. However, as time has passed, I often find a sense of relief in his appearance. Why? Because being a black boy in America today can be perilously dangerous.
Recent news reports of a teenage boy shot at for simply knocking on a neighbor’s door for directions left me shaken. Thankfully, he escaped unharmed, but the reality that a black boy could face gunfire for such a minor action fills me with dread. This is the society we inhabit—a black child can be mistaken for a criminal merely for asking for help.
I have always recognized my son’s unique position, but the gravity of it hit home after hearing about two black men arrested for waiting in a Starbucks without making a purchase. It struck me that my son’s light skin and curly hair could potentially safeguard him in life-threatening situations. If he were to encounter law enforcement, I am confident he would walk away—albeit shaken—because of the privileges that come with his appearance.
From the moment he was born, I became acutely aware of how strangers perceive him. He was barely a year old when Eric Garner was tragically killed by police just a few miles from where we lived. During a visit to Missouri after Michael Brown’s death, I could feel the stares directed at us; while he blended in with his father’s family, I stood out starkly. No one voiced their thoughts, but I knew they were questioning how a black woman could be with a white child.
Even in New York City, we faced similar scrutiny. Out with my family, I often felt people’s gazes questioning our relationship, despite him climbing into my lap to nurse and calling me “Mommy.”
On one occasion, a woman remarked that I was “lucky” to have a son who appeared white. I was taken aback, but perhaps her words hinted at a deeper sentiment.
The reality is that I don’t fear my son being shot by police while playing with a toy gun. If he’s pulled over, I don’t worry about him being killed while reaching for his ID. If he waits at Starbucks without ordering, he likely wouldn’t even draw a glance, let alone a police call. Yes, I will always have concerns for him as any mother would, but I won’t spend every moment anxiously awaiting his return home, fearing for his life.
I constantly think about the black men I love and their realities. My father enjoys sitting outside for fresh air, and I often worry about police interactions simply because he’s waiting for my mother to return from work. My brother and nephew live in a small town where I dread the possibility of them being pulled over without any witnesses, or my friends becoming hashtags due to someone’s prejudice.
However, I don’t harbor these fears for my son. If he knocks on a door for directions, he will likely be welcomed with open arms. He won’t be perceived as a threat based solely on his skin tone. Although he may face challenges as a mixed-race child with a black mother, he will not live in the same constant state of fear that his grandfather, uncles, cousins, and friends endure daily.
I won’t need to have “the talk” that many black parents feel compelled to give their children. Instead, I am teaching him how to be an ally to future black friends, standing up for them, as he will possess certain privileges despite sharing their heritage. I’m educating him about a world that will view him through a different lens, even though he embodies both sides of the racial spectrum. If this is what it means to be “lucky,” I prefer not to be lucky at all.
For more insights on topics related to parenthood and family dynamics, you may explore our other blog posts, including those on home insemination kits, which provide valuable resources. Also, this article offers a unique perspective on fertility that may be of interest, and the CDC is an excellent resource for pregnancy and home insemination information.
In summary, my son’s lighter skin may shield him from the harsh realities faced by many black men in America. While I worry for those I love who navigate this world differently, I find myself in a position where I hope my son can grow without the burdens of racial prejudice that others endure daily.