It was one of those unexpected winter Sundays in the Midwest, where temperatures soared and sunshine flooded the streets. Everyone in town seemed to have the same idea: head to the park after what felt like an eternity of indoor confinement filled with family squabbles and endless Netflix binges. My family joined the throngs of park-goers eager to soak up the outdoors.
As we pulled into the almost full parking lot, the kids could barely contain their excitement, bursting from the minivan before I even had the chance to turn off the engine. I quickly reminded my older children to be cautious of the smaller ones while I took my three-year-old by the hand. As we made our way to the playground, I set our bag of water bottles on a nearby bench, ready to join in the fun.
About ten minutes into our playtime, another family arrived. A white couple with two young daughters, probably around four and six, seemed oblivious to the surrounding chaos as they settled in. The mother, coffee in hand, announced that they were going for a walk on the track while the girls played. The girls, filled with excitement, ran off to join other kids in a game of tag. The parents strolled away, their figures fading into the distance as they engaged in conversation with another couple.
I noticed the younger girl’s demeanor shift from carefree to anxious as she scanned the area. Before I could approach her to offer help, she began a brisk walk away from her parents towards the bathrooms, which, unfortunately, were closed for the winter. Meanwhile, the parents remained engrossed in their conversation, completely unaware of their daughter’s sudden distress. Should I wave them down? I couldn’t leave my own kids unattended to chase after her.
Finally, the parents noticed their daughter darting away and quickly returned to the playground. It was a surreal moment, a stark reminder of the privileges that come with their skin color.
As I watched my own children—two tweens, a first grader, and a preschooler—I couldn’t shake the weight of reality. My children are Black, and it’s a reality that they are often perceived through the lens of stereotypes and racism. I’m constantly reminded of the tragic fate of Tamir Rice, a young Black boy who lost his life while playing in a park, simply because of the color of his skin.
On this trip, I witnessed the striking differences in how the parents reacted to children of various backgrounds. My son and a few other boys, including two Asian twins and a white boy, were engaged in a lively game of pretend dinosaurs atop a rock formation. Out of nowhere, the white boy’s father, who had been neglecting his son just moments before, suddenly swooped in, urging his son to abandon the fun. The boys were simply enjoying themselves, but their exuberance seemed to raise alarms for the father.
I wasn’t at the park to judge other parents; I had my hands full with my own kids. However, I couldn’t help but notice that while parents of color hovered closely over their children, many white parents seemed absorbed in their phones or completely absent. The harsh truth is that white children are afforded a default sense of safety that children of color, like mine, simply do not enjoy.
My kids live under a set of rules that their white peers often do not face. We ban any type of toy gun play outdoors—even brightly colored dart guns. They know to always get a bag and receipt for purchases, regardless of how small. We’ve rehearsed what to do when encountering law enforcement. In public spaces, they aren’t allowed to have their hands in their pockets or hoods up.
These precautions are not fair. But they are necessities for my children’s safety. I’m not stifling their independence; I’m protecting them from those who may view them as a threat simply because of their appearance. It’s about preparing them for a world that hasn’t always been kind to children of color.
Parents of white children undoubtedly have their own fears—about social media, bullying, and other typical concerns. Yet, for parents of children of color, there’s an added layer of anxiety: the real and pervasive fear of how their children may be perceived by the world around them.
This experience at the park serves as a reminder of the work that still lies ahead. If you’re interested in more stories highlighting the realities of parenting, check out this article on our blog, which shares deeper insights about family life. For those navigating the insemination journey, resources like Make A Mom provide excellent guidance. Additionally, if you’re expecting or planning a family, March of Dimes offers invaluable information.
In summary, a simple day at the park illuminated the stark differences in how children of color are perceived compared to their white peers. It’s an ongoing challenge, but one that we navigate with awareness and care.
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