I might never have known about my son’s little misstep if it hadn’t been for the sound of something hitting the pavement while we were hurrying through the parking lot.
It was a pack of Mentos, and I certainly hadn’t purchased them. My focus had solely been on the Batman shirts I bought for a birthday party we were already late for.
“Did you take those!?” I exclaimed, gripping my son’s arm and turning us back toward the store. My heart raced. “You did! What made you think that was okay? You asked me if you could have them, and I said no! So you just took them!? Oh no, no Chuck E. Cheese for you! We’re going home!”
“I saw them on the floor, so I thought I could take them,” he replied, his innocence palpable.
“That’s just nonsense, and you know it! You can’t take things from a store without paying!” I shouted, frustration boiling over. “If you do this when you’re older, Mama won’t be there to help you. Do you understand?”
But how could he? He was just a child.
We stormed back into Old Navy, with my son and his little sister trailing behind. I approached the cashier, my face a mix of anger and shame. “We accidentally took these,” I admitted, placing the stolen candy on the counter.
She looked a bit puzzled but nodded, and we left. I decided we would still go to Chuck E. Cheese. It didn’t seem fair to let my daughter suffer for her brother’s mistake. We were already there, after all. I made my son sit alone for the first hour, missing out on all the fun while he thought about his actions. I also resolved that after the party, he would have to go back to Old Navy and tell the security guard and manager what he had done.
When he faced them, tears in his eyes, both young men seemed to feel sorry for him. They looked at him, this innocent little boy who had made a typical childhood error, and it was clear they bore no ill will.
I had discussions with friends, both black and white, who shared their own stories of childhood mischief. Most praised my decision to give him a time-out and make him return the candy, but I felt I was overreacting. In an ideal world, I might have thought so, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that the stakes were different for us. Just recently, a friend told me about her “chubby white nephew” who faced no consequences after being caught stealing. Would the same have happened if my son were in his shoes?
I pictured my son, as a teenager, tall and muscular, in a similar situation, facing stern store owners and the potential for serious trouble. The thought made me feel nauseous.
Instead of being outraged at my son’s innocent mistake, I found myself seething at the unfairness of our reality. How is it that, decades after Rev. Martin Luther King Jr.’s legacy, black parents still worry their children will be judged solely by their skin color? Why must we still have “the talk” with our sons, knowing that a small mistake could lead to dire consequences? And why do most white mothers seem to be free from these worries?
As a parent, I’ve encountered countless moments of stress and exhaustion, but navigating the double standards of race in parenting took me to a different level of anxiety. I felt overwhelmed, especially knowing this was just the beginning of my journey.
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In conclusion, parenting can be a complex journey filled with moments that challenge our understanding of fairness and justice, especially when viewed through the lens of race and society.