“Oh, he’s adorable! Are you his caregiver?”
During the initial year and a half of my son’s life, I was asked this question at least two or three times each week. Once he started talking, the confusion only deepened when he referred to me as “Mommy.” The inquiries shifted from “Are you the caregiver?” to puzzled expressions, as if they couldn’t accept that I was his mother. Even now, we still encounter those bewildered looks.
It’s tempting to wave my arms and exclaim, “Yes, I’m a black woman. Yes, I’m his mom. He was born from me, and if you ask me if I’m his caregiver again, I might just lose it.” However, I usually just nod and move on, unwilling to satisfy their curiosity.
After four years of this, I’ve grown accustomed to the frustration—though it certainly doesn’t make it any less irritating. This issue extends beyond me; it’s a common experience among mothers of color with mixed-race children who don’t resemble them.
Not too long ago, a viral video showcased a little girl interrupting her father during a live BBC interview. A distressed woman rushed into the room to fetch the child, only to be followed by an infant in a walker. While I found humor in the scenario as a work-from-home mom, many viewers immediately labeled the woman as “the caregiver” simply because she was Asian and her husband was white. When it was later revealed that she was indeed the mother, some tried to justify their initial assumption by claiming it was due to her demeanor. But let’s not gloss over the underlying issue: women of color are often perceived as “the caregiver” until proven otherwise.
When I’m out with my son, I frequently face the assumption that I’m his caregiver until I clarify, “Oh no, he’s mine!” A quick search on popular stock photo sites for “mixed-race family” reveals that approximately 75% of the images depict a family with a father of color and a white mother. While it’s true that black men are statistically more likely to date outside their race than black women, that doesn’t mean black women don’t engage in interracial relationships. Many of my friends who are in mixed-race partnerships are women of color. So, it’s baffling how someone can see a black woman with a child who looks more like their father’s race and immediately assume she’s just the caregiver.
It’s both ignorant and intrusive to question a stranger about their child’s parentage. Frankly, I can’t believe I even have to point this out, but here we are.
The lack of representation of mothers of color with mixed-race children contributes to this issue. I’ve had kids ask me directly, “Why is your son white?” I’m more patient with children than adults, so I kindly explain that his dad is white and that his skin resembles his father’s more than mine. This illustrates that many people fail to teach their children that families can take on various appearances.
As my son approaches school age, I can only imagine the inquiries he’ll face from peers. I refuse to teach him to simply tolerate such questions. It doesn’t matter if it makes him or me seem rude—he shouldn’t have to answer “What are you?” repeatedly while trying to live his life.
As a black mother of a fair-skinned child, I face unique challenges. When I note that my son presents as white and is often perceived as such, it seems to make some people uncomfortable. They may insist he looks just like me, and while we share similarities, he also resembles his father. That’s perfectly fine. Many mixed-race kids can embody traits from both parents.
Recognizing that my experience as a black mother with a fair-skinned child differs from that of a white mother with mixed-race children is not a defensive stance. It’s simply a reality—white mothers of mixed children aren’t typically labeled as “the caregiver” upon first glance, nor are they frequently questioned about their children’s skin tones. While it may happen, it certainly doesn’t occur with the same frequency or intensity.
This isn’t the first time I’ve tackled this topic. The dismissal of the feelings and perspectives of women of color in these situations is rampant. People often ask, “Can’t you just be happy about your child?” or “Why do you care what others think?” But the real question remains: why do people believe they have the right to inquire about my child and me?
If you want to compliment one of us, that’s welcome; I know my son is adorable, smart, and hilarious, and I appreciate the acknowledgment. However, when you cross into invasive territory regarding my son, his father’s ethnicity, or our relationship, you’ve overstepped, and that behavior needs to be addressed.
Bringing attention to this frustrating phenomenon doesn’t make me or other women of color overly sensitive. We’re not obligated to overlook others’ ignorance or peculiar curiosity. That’s not how this works.
I’m not the caregiver. And I owe you no explanations.
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