I first became aware of the stereotypes surrounding my son when he was merely a toddler. At local parks or play areas, if a dispute arose among a group of toddlers, all eyes would instinctively shift toward my son, who was often the only child of color present. The reactions from the adults were almost automatic, as if they were programmed to react that way.
Not long before this, my son had been a caramel-skinned infant with warm, brown eyes and a tiny curly afro. Strangers would stop us to admire his cuteness, speaking to him in high-pitched tones, hoping to elicit a bright smile in response.
However, as he transitioned into toddlerhood, everything changed. He grew quickly, reaching the upper ninetieth percentile for height and weight, transitioning from a cherubic baby to a strong, muscular child. At just two years old, he often looked like he was four. This physical transformation coincided with a stark shift in how people perceived and treated him. When he threw a tantrum, we were met with disapproving glances. If he acted like any typical child, snatching a toy from a peer, we could hear the annoyance in the other parent’s voice.
I felt inclined to dress him in a shirt proclaiming his age, but deep down, I recognized that it wasn’t just his size that stirred discomfort; it was his skin color. The moment that stands out vividly in my mind occurred when he was two-and-a-half. An acquaintance remarked on how much he had grown, to which I responded, “Yes, he’s a big boy.” Without a beat, she referred to him as a “cute little thug.”
Six months later, during his preschool’s parent-teacher conference, I was blindsided by the teacher’s question: “I probably shouldn’t ask this, but was he born addicted to drugs?” I was utterly speechless. This wasn’t a question directed at every parent; it was a clear reflection of biases based on race. After addressing this incident with the principal, my son was moved to a class where the teacher genuinely appreciated and supported him.
Navigating life in 2023 as a large black boy is a challenge for my son and our family. We are acutely aware of the so-called “preschool-to-prison pipeline.” Our children, including him, are not allowed to play with toy guns outside our home, knowing the tragic outcomes that can arise from such innocent actions, like what happened to Tamir Rice. We constantly worry about his future—when he starts driving or dating, our foremost concern will always be his safety.
The harsh truth is that black boys are often viewed as tough, suspicious, and threatening simply because of their existence. Consequently, we must prepare our son for a world that will question and distrust him. At just six years old, he understands that when we enter a store, he shouldn’t wear his hood up, keep his hands out of his pockets, or touch items we aren’t purchasing. His rules differ from those of his white peers because he will always be seen as a potential suspect. The color of his skin, the texture of his hair, and the depth of his gaze make it likely that society will treat him with suspicion.
Recently, I took him and his sister to a medical appointment. He was bubbling with excitement, eager to explore the new environment. As he reached for an overhead lamp, the doctor’s assistant glared and snapped, “Are you always like this?” Her choice of words implied that his exuberance was unwelcome. To me, his enthusiasm is a gift, but to her, he was a disruption in need of control.
When people see my son, they jump to conclusions. The media, including news reports, films, and even children’s literature, has conditioned society to view brown skin as threatening. What I wish is for those who harbor fear to see my son for who he truly is: a caring, empathetic child. For example, last year, when a classmate was crying, he sat beside her, wrapping his arms around her shoulders, sharing her tears without knowing why she was upset.
He is a nurturer, as demonstrated when we adopted our fourth child; he would sit on the floor, feeding her a bottle while gently stroking her hair and singing softly. It doesn’t matter to him whether his older sisters are playing with Barbies, racing bikes, or dressing up as superheroes; he embraces it all with enthusiasm.
I vividly recall one Sunday after church when my son stopped to introduce himself to a group of women by the entrance. One woman extended her hand for a handshake, and he sweetly kissed the top of her hand, beaming with joy. He has a natural ability to connect with people, and just last Sunday, he took his time getting to his classroom because he was busy shaking hands and chatting with adults he encountered in the hallway.
This is my son: empathetic, energetic, playful, intelligent, and handsome. He is not an exception. There are countless black boys like him, with unique personalities, who deserve to thrive without being shackled by the stereotypes that seek to confine them.
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In summary, we must continue to fight against the stereotypes that seek to define our children and instead celebrate their individuality and potential.
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