Recently, I stumbled upon a post in my newsfeed that left my heart racing and filled me with a mix of anxiety and sorrow. As a mother of a big Black boy, I felt the weight of the reality that I cannot afford to ignore. Despite his kindness, respectfulness, and affection, my son is not safe in this world.
At seven years old (almost seven and a half, according to him), my son was born on Martin Luther King Jr.’s birthday. We welcomed him home from the hospital, promising to love and care for him forever. Six months later, we finalized his adoption, making him the third Black child in our family, with his little sister joining us four years later. As a multiracial, adoptive family, my husband and I are white, while all four of our children are Black.
Adopting our son served as a wake-up call. We had already begun to notice how society treated our two Black daughters differently as they grew older. While infants and toddlers received compliments on their adorableness, by the time they reached preschool age, we observed how some white individuals reacted to them—assumptions about their interests or comments on their behavior became common. There were numerous instances of microaggressions, like strangers attempting to touch their hair.
However, when our son entered the picture, we noticed a stark change in perception. Strangers quickly shifted from calling him “handsome” to viewing him as a potential threat. At the park or children’s museum, I would see white parents quickly usher their children away from him, even when he was just being a toddler. His size, being in the ninetieth percentile for height and weight, made him a target of fear.
It didn’t matter that he was learning to speak, or that he was incredibly loving and empathetic. He often paused to offer gentle touches and kind words to babies nearby. One significant moment crystallized my understanding of what it means to raise a Black boy in a society that fears Blackness. While out one day, an acquaintance I hadn’t seen in a year called my son “a cute little thug” just months after the tragic death of Michael Brown, a Black teen killed by a police officer in Ferguson, Missouri. The impact of this event was palpable, as our community grappled with the implications of race.
After that incident, I found myself facing a new challenge. During a parent-teacher conference, my son’s teacher asked if he had been born addicted to drugs. I was taken aback. Her question, steeped in prejudice, made me question what she thought about him during their time together.
As a white parent, I struggle with trust. Just because someone is polite to my son doesn’t mean they understand his reality. There are those who believe that simply being colorblind equates to being non-racist, but that perspective does not fool me or any other parent of a Black child.
I recall a visit to the park before the pandemic, where my son was joyfully climbing with other boys. A father, previously glued to his phone, suddenly rushed over to pull his son away from my son and his friends, despite no signs of trouble. This was a stark reminder of how white fragility perceives Black children as threats, even when they are just being kids.
The incidents surrounding Ahmaud Arbery and Christian Cooper illustrate a grim reality: Black boys can be seen as dangerous for simply existing. This narrative is fed by media portrayals and societal conditioning, and it weighs heavily on my son’s childhood.
My white privilege does not shield my son from the harsh realities he will face as he grows older. I know I cannot do this alone; we rely on our community to help us prepare him for adulthood. We have to instill essential safety rules for him when interacting with law enforcement, shopping, or being in public. The heartbreaking task of explaining why these precautions are necessary is one we take seriously.
It is our duty to ensure that he understands that while he is loved, there are rules designed to keep him safe in a world that often perceives him as a threat. We will continue to have these conversations, because he deserves the opportunity to explore life freely.
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Summary
The article highlights the challenges faced by a mother raising her Black son in America, illustrating how societal perceptions can turn innocent childhood moments into potential threats. The author shares personal experiences of prejudice and the need for education and community support in navigating these realities.