My son is biracial. His father is Caucasian, and while he shares my features, he has inherited his father’s light skin. Unless he spends significant time in the sun, he often looks like a lightly tanned white child. Some people suggest he appears mixed race, but in reality, when seen alongside his father, he does not come across as black.
Initially, I felt a twinge of disappointment at his lighter complexion, but as time has passed, I find myself feeling a strange sense of relief. The reason? It is perilous for black men to simply live in America today.
When a recent story broke about a young boy being shot at for knocking on a neighbor’s door to ask for directions, my heart sank. Fortunately, he was unharmed, but the incident made me acutely aware of the dangers my son might face. In today’s society, a black boy asking for help can be wrongly perceived as a threat.
This reality hit home when I heard about two black men arrested for waiting at a Starbucks without placing an order. It struck me that my son’s fair skin and curly hair could potentially save his life in a critical situation. If he were to encounter law enforcement, I feel confident that he would emerge from the experience scared but alive.
From his infancy, I have been conscious of how others perceive him. He was just over a year old when Eric Garner was killed by police officers only minutes from our home. When we traveled to Missouri shortly after Michael Brown’s tragic death, I felt the stares directed at us. While he blended in with his father’s family, I stood out as a black woman with a white child. Though no one voiced their thoughts, I sensed their judgment: “How did this black woman end up with this little white kid?”
Even in New York City, we faced similar scrutiny. Out with my family, I would notice people casting suspicious glances, as if they believed I had kidnapped him, despite him climbing into my lap and calling me “Mommy.”
Once, a stranger remarked that I was fortunate to have a son who looked white. I was taken aback, but perhaps she was hinting at something more significant than I had realized.
The truth is, I do not fear that my son will be shot by police while playing with a toy gun. If he is pulled over while driving, the likelihood of him being harmed simply for reaching for his identification is minimal. Should he find himself waiting for a friend at a Starbucks without making a purchase, no one would summon the police on him. In fact, he may not even attract a second glance, and if he did, it’s highly unlikely he would face arrest. While I will always worry about his safety as any mother would, I do not have to anxiously await his return home, fearing that he may have fallen victim to violence or incarceration solely due to his skin color.
Every moment, I think of black men I love and cherish. Living so close to where Eric Garner was killed makes me anxious when my father sits outside to enjoy the fresh air or waits for my mother at the bus stop. I fear that he could be harassed by police simply for being present. My brother and nephew, who live in a small Midwestern town, are not exempt from my worries either; I dread the thought of them being pulled over and facing violence without witnesses. I am also deeply concerned that one of my black male friends could become a viral hashtag if someone decides they dislike his demeanor or appearance.
However, my son is not caught in that same web of fear. If he were to knock on a stranger’s door seeking directions, he would likely be welcomed inside or offered assistance. His skin color will not label him as a threat. He might never experience the realities of being a black man in America. While he may encounter challenges as a mixed-race child with a black mother, he will not live under the same constant fear as his grandfather, uncles, cousins, and friends do daily.
I don’t have to have “the talk” that so many black parents must have with their children. Instead, I am focusing on teaching him how to be an ally to his future black friends, encouraging him to protect and stand up for them because he will possess privileges that they may not.
I’m educating him about a world that will perceive him differently based on his appearance, even though he belongs to both identities. If this is what it means to be “lucky,” then I would prefer to forgo that luck entirely.
In summary, the author reflects on the complexities of raising a biracial son in a society fraught with racial bias. While she acknowledges the privilege her son’s appearance affords him, she also grapples with the realities faced by black men in America. She aims to educate him to be an ally for others while recognizing the nuanced challenges of his mixed-race identity.
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