Navigating Conversations on Race with My Newly Licensed Black Teen

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Every morning, my teenage daughter, who I adopted from Haiti, has two rituals: scrolling through the latest news on her phone and asking when I can take her out for a driving lesson. She’s passionate about both subjects.

Yesterday, though, she came out of her room silently. After a rare long snuggle and some kitchen wandering, she finally spoke up, “Mom, did you hear about what happened to Marcus Wright?”

I nodded, sensing she needed to talk. Just then, her younger brother, also adopted from Haiti, walked in, and I noticed her instantly withdraw.

She didn’t want him to hear it.

This dilemma haunts me every time a Black person is killed by law enforcement or faces unjust treatment. It’s a question I grapple with each time we witness hate speech or ignorance aimed at people who look like my children. Should I share this news with them?

Despite her young age, she understands the importance of discussing these issues openly. We need to process these events together and work through our feelings. As their white parents, we have a responsibility to advocate for them. My Black teens need to be reminded of the precautions to take if they are ever stopped by police.

This is a heavy reality that I wish more white parents could comprehend when they question the concept of white privilege. It’s a barrier that exists between my daughter and her white peers, a silent burden that weighs down the potential of their friendships.

Later, I found her on the couch, her dog cuddled up beside her, browsing for a new phone case. She was considering one with a Black power fist or one featuring a regal Black woman adorned with a crown—an African queen.

Yesterday, she didn’t even ask to drive.

Today, she woke up without checking the news. “Maybe hold off on that for now,” I suggested. “Let’s just chat and take a moment.”

I paused, contemplating the situation. I don’t want to burden her with this, but she’s just months away from getting her driver’s license. Soon, the joy of driving will be mixed with anxiety over being pulled over by police. Will she become another headline?

Is she careful enough on social media to avoid being misjudged? Are her grades stellar enough to fend off any negative narratives that could emerge? These are the thoughts that occupy her mind while she’s learning to drive. She doesn’t have the luxury of daydreaming about beach trips or hanging out with friends.

“His name was Marcus Wright,” I’ll tell her. “He was a straight-A student. He was reaching for his ID when the officer shot him four times, even after announcing what he was doing. His girlfriend’s child was in the backseat.”

As I prepare for that conversation later today, after her dance class when she’s most at ease, I hop onto Amazon and order her the phone case with the Black princess. I throw in the one with the power fist because it’s the least I can do right now.

It feels trivial to focus on phone cases while knowing heartbreak is on the horizon. After all, she will think of Marcus’s family, her own family, and then herself.

I suspect she won’t be asking to drive today either.