It all began with a bubble gun. My son was ecstatic that it was allowance day and had been pleading with his dad to take him shopping. They returned home with several items, including a purple bubble gun. Typically, we have a strict no-toy-gun rule outside of foam dart guns allowed in our basement. I wasn’t thrilled about this new toy, but I knew it was a cheap novelty that would quickly lose its appeal.
One day, while my son was happily shooting bubbles into the sky for his little sister, the mail carrier arrived to deliver a package. After thanking him, my son playfully pointed his toy gun toward the delivery truck. My heart raced. I knelt down to his level and firmly told him he must never point a gun, real or toy, at anyone or anything. I reminded him that this could be dangerous and potentially fatal for a Black boy in America. The police and the public often cannot distinguish between real and fake guns, and playing with a toy gun could lead to dire consequences, similar to what happened to Tamir Rice.
My son listened intently, solemn and quiet. As I sat in a lawn chair, I questioned whether I had handled the situation correctly. As a white woman, I have been conditioned to view police as protectors, while my four Black children do not share the same privilege. How could I have forgotten this when I had to call the police just weeks later?
While outside with my youngest two children, we suddenly heard two distinct shotgun blasts. Growing up in the country, I recognized that sound, but it felt out of place in our suburban neighborhood. My husband, working from home, rushed outside to check on us. After discussing it, we decided to call 911.
Within moments, a young white officer arrived and asked me to recount what we had heard. He was in and out quickly, leaving to investigate further. As he drove away, my son asked, “Mom, is the officer here to kill me?”
At just eight years old, my son is already painfully aware of the dangers that officers can pose to people who look like him. Even without the news on in our home, he absorbs the narratives circulating on social media and hears about “the talk” that parents of Black children must have about police interactions.
I knelt beside him, took his hand, and assured him that the officer was there because I had called about the shots. But my son wasn’t convinced; he repeated his question, and I tried to comfort him. However, I couldn’t help but wonder, are things really okay? For many white families, police are seen as community helpers, but for my children, they symbolize a potential threat.
My role as their mother is to prepare them for the realities of growing up Black in America. This includes teaching them how to interact with police, what to say, and how to behave in public spaces to avoid drawing unnecessary attention. I teach them to keep their hands visible, refrain from running or yelling, and to adhere to the unspoken rules of being in stores.
I have to ensure that I supervise their outdoor play, unlike many parents who don’t have the same concerns. Free-range parenting isn’t an option for us, as it can lead to unwanted police interventions. I must also vet other parents thoroughly before allowing my children to visit friends’ homes.
Even with our precautions, the biases ingrained in society can turn my children’s brown skin into a target. Racism is pervasive, and my children are not shielded from it, even in our own driveway. I often reflect on my parenting choices, eager to learn from Black voices and experiences to better raise my children.
I refuse to sugarcoat their reality; fairy tales won’t protect them from harm. I explain that while there are officers who genuinely care and work against racism, many contribute to a system that disproportionately affects Black individuals. We can never predict how an encounter with law enforcement will unfold, so we must prioritize safety.
For many white suburban kids, police are friendly figures; for my children, they may represent systemic oppression. My duty is to prepare them with the skills they need to navigate a world that isn’t always kind.
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Summary
The article discusses a mother’s experience as she reflects on the complexities of raising Black children in America. She shares a personal story where her son questions whether the police are a threat to him. The author highlights the need for her children to navigate a world where their race impacts their safety and interactions with law enforcement, contrasting her own experiences as a white woman.