I’m a chronic worrier. I happen to be white, female, and the proud mom of a two-month-old baby boy. Growing up, I was surrounded by sisters and girl cousins, so raising a boy is a new ballgame for me. When I discovered I was having a son, I didn’t lose sleep over the challenges he might face as a male — I worried more about these issues for a hypothetical daughter. But the moment he entered the world, I realized I had overlooked how his race would shape his experiences. The privilege of being white means you often don’t think about it — at least, I didn’t until now.
Just after his birth, my social media feed exploded with the news of a privileged white man, Ethan Brooks, who received a slap on the wrist for raping a woman. He faced only a six-month sentence because a judge believed incarceration would be too harsh for him. What about the victim? I can’t help but fear my son could grow up to be like that man.
Weeks later, tragedy struck again as two black men were killed: Marcus Jones in Baton Rouge by two white police officers, and just a day later, in my own Minnesota neighborhood, another black man, David Lee, lost his life at the hands of law enforcement. It’s not just about race; it’s about a system that privileges those with lighter skin, allowing them to escape accountability. I worry my son might become one of those individuals.
You might think it’s self-centered to focus on my white boy’s future while ignoring the struggles of others. He won’t have to fear for his life based solely on his skin color. He can wear a hoodie or play with a toy gun without fearing for his safety. I won’t have to teach him to be hyper-aware of his drink at parties or to walk home with friends for fear of assault as I would with a daughter. Instead, I worry he might become the violator rather than the victim.
This is why I’m anxious about our white boys. I fear for our black boys and our daughters. It’s essential that we teach our sons about equality, the concept of white privilege, and how to challenge these issues. They must learn about consent, power dynamics, and ultimately, how to be compassionate and humble individuals. I’m concerned that even with the right guidance, my son will still be bombarded with societal messages about whiteness and masculinity that contradict what I teach him at home.
What I can do is instill kindness in my son, but kindness alone isn’t enough. He must respect others’ rights to their own bodies, which includes understanding consent. I want him to know that, contrary to societal stereotypes, black men are not to be feared. With his privilege comes responsibility, not entitlement.
As a white mother, I admit I feel overwhelmed and lost in this daunting task of parenting. If mothers of black boys have to teach their sons how to navigate interactions with police to stay safe, and if mothers of daughters have to prepare them to protect themselves against assault, then the least I can do is figure out how to raise my white son to be an ally rather than an oppressor.
I don’t have all the answers for teaching these tough lessons. I’m new to parenting a white boy and to discussing topics that make me uncomfortable. However, I know that the current approach isn’t working. The injustices faced by black boys and the ongoing violence against women highlight the urgency of this conversation.
So, I’m making a start. I’m committing to listening, reading, speaking up, and teaching within my own family. If we don’t pay attention to how we raise our white boys, we risk failing not just our daughters and black boys but everyone involved. The burden of fixing these systemic issues shouldn’t rest solely on the shoulders of the oppressed. It is our responsibility as the privileged to change, beginning with how we raise our white boys.