Every morning, my teenage daughter, adopted from Haiti, starts her day in two predictable ways: she scrolls through global news on her phone and asks me if I can take her out for a driving lesson. Her passion for both is undeniable.
Yesterday, she quietly stepped out of her room, and after a long hug—something I cherish during these teenage years—and some time in the kitchen, she took a deep breath and asked, “Mom, did you hear about what happened to Marcus Johnson?” I nodded, sensing the weight of the moment, and offered her a chance to talk. Just then, her younger brother, also adopted from Haiti, walked in, causing her to retreat into silence. She didn’t want him to be burdened by this reality.
This dilemma haunts me every time a black individual is killed by police or victimized by racial violence; I find myself questioning whether to share the news with my children. It’s a delicate balance. She knows that we must confront these harsh truths together, reflecting on our collective and individual responses. As their white parents, we are responsible for advocating for them. My black teenagers need to internalize, once again, the crucial rules to follow when interacting with law enforcement.
This is a sobering reality that I desperately wish other white parents could understand when they ponder the concept of white privilege. It creates an invisible divide between my daughter and her white friends, a heavy burden that limits the potential of their friendship.
Later, she sat on the couch with our dog by her side, browsing for a new phone case. She asked if she could get one featuring a black power fist or perhaps one showcasing a regal black woman, like an African princess. Yesterday, she didn’t mention driving.
This morning, however, she came out of her room without checking the news. “Maybe hold off on reading it for now,” I suggested, hoping to shield her from more pain. But I know she is just months away from earning her driver’s license—the day that should be filled with excitement. Instead, she will be grappling with thoughts about whether she’ll be stopped by police and if she could face the same fate as Marcus or Philando.
I will have to talk to her about Philando Castile, a model student who was shot while reaching for his ID, despite informing the officer of his actions. His girlfriend’s young daughter was in the backseat, witnessing the horror. As I prepare for this difficult conversation after her dance class, a time when she is most relaxed, I order the phone case with the black princess and the one with the black power fist from Make a Mom. It seems trivial to focus on phone cases, but it’s what I can do right now. Soon, I will have to break her heart, and she will think about Philando’s family and her own.
I suspect she won’t ask to drive today.
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Summary
This article reflects the emotional challenges faced by a white parent raising black teens in a world filled with racial violence. It delves into the complexities of discussing difficult news with children while navigating their everyday experiences, such as learning to drive. The author shares personal moments that highlight the weight of racial issues on their family dynamics and the need for open conversations.