When my partner, Alex, and I decided to marry, we envisioned a future filled with children. Our dreams included Alex climbing the professional ladder while I pursued my graduate studies. We relished our weekends, traveling and enjoying life as a carefree couple without kids.
Five years into our marriage, everything shifted when I received a diagnosis of an autoimmune disorder. As an insulin-dependent diabetic, my prospects for pregnancy became complicated and precarious. We soon concluded that adoption would be our ideal path to parenthood.
The moment we became parents came unexpectedly. One Saturday, while painting our kitchen, we received a call from a social worker informing us that a baby girl had been born. Would we like to be considered as her parents? Completely taken aback, we said yes. Just two hours later, we received another call confirming that we had been chosen by the baby’s birth mother. In a flurry of activity, we packed our car, installed a car seat, and set off to bring our daughter home.
Initially, raising a black child didn’t feel much different than raising a white child. Newborns have basic needs—food, baths, diaper changes, and sleep. We were enveloped in a joyful haze, much like any new parents. However, when our daughter was around five months old, an encounter at a store opened my eyes. Two black women approached us, and one commented on my daughter’s dry hair. Stunned, I was unsure how to respond. The woman, noticing my reaction, kindly offered to guide us through the aisles, recommending products specifically for black hair and skin. This experience shifted my pride to humility and gratitude.
Now, as a family of four children, all black, we embrace our multiracial identity. Over the years, we’ve learned from our mistakes and celebrated our achievements. Yet, with time, our concerns have intensified.
Parents of children of color—whether biological or not—often grapple with anxiety. The truth is, raising melanin-rich children comes with unique challenges. Our kids are exposed to realities that lack the safety net of white privilege, and the stakes feel higher than ever.
To bolster our children’s racial confidence, we’ve taken intentional steps. They have mentors, and my daughters visit a hair-braider while my son has a barber. Additionally, we are active members of a predominantly African American church and have built friendships within multiracial families. It’s crucial for our kids to maintain connections with their birth families, providing them with essential racial mirrors.
We’ve also educated ourselves on hair care and engage our children in conversations about racism and #BlackExcellence. They’re aware of significant historical figures like Dr. King and Harriet Tubman, and we emphasize the importance of representation in music across genres and eras. However, we also navigate sensitive topics—like limiting their play with toy guns, aware of the tragic consequences that have impacted children like Tamir Rice.
Some have critiqued my focus on race, suggesting that emphasizing skin color could foster resentment in my children. I reject this idea. I’d rather be seen as “too much” than “not enough.” My greatest concern is constantly questioning: How much is truly enough?
Despite our efforts, we cannot shield our children from the harsh realities of being black in America. My older daughters faced racial slurs at a young age; my son was labeled a “cute little thug” when he was just two. The privilege Alex and I possess as their parents is fleeting, especially as our children grow.
I regularly reevaluate our approach, pondering where gaps may exist. At present, our children exhibit racial confidence and competence. When confronted with new situations, we often lean on friends of color for guidance, recognizing that our experiences as non-black individuals differ vastly from theirs.
It is a privilege to be the chosen parents of our children. Each time someone from the community steps in to assist us, I feel immense gratitude. Over the years, we have cultivated a supportive village around our children, yet the weight of the realities of living with brown skin remains.
Our multiracial family is filled with joy, but the accompanying fears are ever-present. I rely on my faith, intuition, and our village for guidance, holding onto hope for their future.
For more on family planning and parenting, check out this insightful post here and explore resources like IVF Babble for valuable information on pregnancy and home insemination. For tools related to at-home insemination, Cryobaby offers excellent products.
In summary, parenting children of color brings joy alongside a constant concern about their safety and well-being. It’s a journey filled with learning, support, and the pursuit of understanding in a world that often feels overwhelming.
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