On the heels of another armed white man who went on a hate shooting spree in Atlanta yesterday
and
on the heels of another white woman proclaiming “not all white women” after reading MY book—a book written BY a Black woman ABOUT the lived experiences of Black women expressly FOR Black women (detect a pattern?),
I find myself revisiting my published words and continuing to think deeply about what it means to be a Black mother raising Black children in this country.
I also wonder what it means to be a white parent raising white children – especially raising white boys who grow up and kill.
My lens is not like the lens of white mothers and fathers. White women view my twenty-something year old son as a threat.”
I teach survival behaviors to my son— i.e., being “appropriately” apologetic in the moment and keeping his hands visible so that he won’t be shot by a cop who “fears” his Blackness. He has been instructed on and “certified” in “How to Stay Alive 101.”
I absolutely hate that this is the reality of parenting a Black child, but as we all know, we don’t have the luxury of not addressing the horrors of being targeted for the color of our skin.
As for the “education”
It includes the compliant demeanor.
It includes the tone of deference, with some variable “yes sirs” thrown in if needed.
It includes the safe way to show-your-hands stance.
It includes all the say-and-do-whatever-it-takes-to-stay-alive strategies.
Does teaching my son this stuff disgust and anger me to no end? Do I hate drilling this pre-trauma into him?
Yes, definitely!
The alternative scenario that we’ve witnessed over and over again convinces us that the immediate priority is for him to stay alive in the moment and then join us in the fight for justice in the next moment.
Because my son is autistic, it makes him especially vulnerable to being accused of disrespect (his bluntly honest speech) and suspiciousness (his avoidance of eye contact), both of which can prompt a trigger-happy pattyroller to gun down my son.
As harsh as this reality is, it remains the reality for many a Black mother—a traumatized child (resulting from this kind of “education”) is better than a dead one. It’s better to console my terrified child than to bury him.
And as for the white woman M. Rene Cole, whose take-away from my book was “not all white women,” I wonder if she has kids. And if she does, I wonder how she is raising them.
I wonder if her white women friends have kids.
I wonder what values they teach them so that their kids don’t grow up and kill ours.
*excerpted and adapted from Blaxhaustion, Karens & Other Threats to Black Lives and Well-Being
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