“It was probably just a clueless teenager,” my friend said dismissively. “They don’t think before they speak.”
When I didn’t reply, she added hastily, “Not that it excuses what he did.”
The day before, a young man driving an old pickup truck shouted a racial slur at my children while they rode their bikes in our driveway.
I went into full protective mode. I called the police to file a report, but without a license plate number, my efforts were futile. I then reached out to the principals of local high schools to describe the driver, but again, nothing came of it.
In a moment of desperation, I called my friend, an experienced mother, hoping for empathy and guidance. Instead, I found her response to be shockingly dismissive.
What I saw as blatant racism seemed to make her, a white woman, uncomfortable. To cope, she trivialized the incident, demonstrating what many refer to as white fragility.
I recall the excitement and joy our friends and family expressed when we welcomed our first daughter, a tiny bundle with curly hair and rich brown skin. Two years later, we added another daughter, followed by a son, and eventually another daughter. All of our children are Black, and our large, multiracial family often draws attention.
We frequently encounter people who smile and proudly declare their “colorblindness,” despite the fact that they approach us because our family is visibly diverse.
My husband and I have been labeled as white “heroes” or “saviors” for adopting children who “needed loving homes.” This narrative often comes with negative stereotypes about my kids’ birth families—assumptions that they were young and irresponsible, perpetuating harmful clichés about Black individuals.
People sometimes ask where our children are from, their eyes lighting up with curiosity. “Did you adopt them from Africa?” they inquire. No, our kids were adopted from Missouri. Their disappointment is palpable; they seek a “rescue” story.
We’ve even heard comments suggesting that “Black babies are just the cutest,” which fetishizes children of color. Yes, my kids are beautiful, but their worth isn’t defined by the opinions of strangers.
The most jarring remarks arise during discussions about race. Many white individuals seem to assume that, because we are white parents, we cannot truly understand racism or its implications. They expect us to ignore the uncomfortable truths of being Black in America.
Take the Black Lives Matter movement, for example. Numerous incidents of Black individuals being unjustly killed by police have been captured on video, and each one hits me hard. When twelve-year-old Tamir Rice was shot while playing with a toy gun in a park, I couldn’t help but think of my own son, who, at six, already looks older because of his height.
Tamir’s death haunted me. He was simply being a child. Yet, when the story circulated, I noticed many white commenters suggesting that Tamir must have done something wrong. Meanwhile, their own sons could roam parks without fear of being shot or even having the police called on them.
The responses from some white individuals were indicative of fragility. “Why wasn’t he supervised?” “Where was his mother?” “How was the officer supposed to know his age?” The implication was clear: if Black children were just more compliant, they would be safe.
For centuries, the rules have been made by white people, leading to a painful history of oppression, from slavery to discriminatory practices that still exist today. People seem to celebrate MLK Day as a day off work but question the need for Black History Month, as if recognizing Black contributions and struggles is somehow unfair.
I understand that conversations about race can be uncomfortable, but they are essential. We can’t hope to avoid repeating the past without confronting it directly. My family doesn’t have the privilege of ignoring racism; we face it daily simply by existing.
Brown skin can evoke fear in many white people, and that’s our reality. I long for the day when someone who admires my child’s braided hairstyle will also engage in discussions about race without hesitation. They should be able to affirm that Black lives matter and acknowledge systemic racism, advocating for equal opportunities for all children, regardless of their skin color.
Until that day arrives, I will continue the conversation about race, regardless of the discomfort it may cause others. My children are watching, learning, and I refuse to shy away from affirming their worth.
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In summary, while many people seem to embrace my multicultural family, their discomfort with discussing race reveals a deeper issue. Conversations about race are vital for understanding and addressing systemic racism, and I will keep advocating for my children’s worth and rights.
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