By: Jamila Carter
My son is biracial. His father is Caucasian, and while he resembles me, he has inherited his father’s fair complexion. He can be quite pale, and even when he gets a tan, he often appears like a sun-kissed white child. Some people claim he looks mixed, but trust me, when he’s around just his dad, he certainly doesn’t come across as black.
Initially, I felt a sense of disappointment when he was born, wishing he had a more pronounced black appearance. However, as time has passed, I often find myself feeling relieved. Why? Because, right now, being a black male in America poses significant dangers.
Recently, a story emerged about a young boy who was shot at simply for knocking on a neighbor’s door to ask for directions. Thankfully, he wasn’t harmed, but the very thought that a teenage boy could face gunfire for seeking help fills me with dread. This is the reality of our society where a black boy can be mistaken for a criminal just for asking for directions.
I’ve always understood that my son is in a unique situation, but that incident truly highlighted it for me. A week later, two black men were arrested for waiting in a Starbucks without making a purchase. In that moment, it struck me that my son’s lighter skin and curly hair might actually safeguard him from potentially life-threatening situations. If he were to encounter law enforcement, I believe he would likely come out of it shaken, yet alive.
From the time he was a baby, I’ve been acutely aware of how strangers perceive him. He was just under a year old when Eric Garner was killed by police in close proximity to our home. I remember feeling the weight of judgment when we traveled to Missouri shortly after Michael Brown was shot. Though he blended in with his father’s family, I felt the stares directed at us, silently questioning how a black woman could be with a white child.
Even during our time in New York City, we weren’t exempt from the curious and often disapproving looks. Out with my family, we would get glances as if people thought I had kidnapped him, despite him calling me “Mommy” and seeking comfort in my lap.
On one occasion, a stranger told me I was “lucky” to have a son who appeared white. I was taken aback, but perhaps she was tapping into something deeper than I realized.
The reality is, I don’t worry that my son will be shot by police while playing outside with a toy gun. If he’s pulled over, he won’t face the same lethal risks as others. If he’s waiting for a friend at a café, he won’t be reported to the police for loitering. Most likely, he won’t even draw a second glance. While I will always have concerns for his safety as any mother would, I don’t have to constantly fret about whether he’ll return home alive. I hope to never receive that dreadful call notifying me of his death or incarceration simply based on the color of his skin.
Every moment, I think about the black men I love and care for. I lived just minutes from where Eric Garner was killed. My father enjoys sitting outside for fresh air while waiting for my mom to return from work. I can’t help but worry that he could be harassed by law enforcement just for waiting in a public space. The thought of my mom calling to say he’s been shot is terrifying.
My brother and nephew live in a small Midwestern town, and I fear for their safety, wondering if they might be pulled over and harmed without anyone to witness it. I worry that one of my black male friends could become a hashtag because of someone’s unfounded bias against them.
Yet, I do not have these fears for my son. If he’s lost and knocks on a door for directions, he’ll likely be welcomed in or offered assistance. He will never be viewed as a threat solely due to his skin color. He may face some challenges as a mixed-race child with a black mother, but he won’t live with the daily anxiety that his grandfather, uncles, and friends endure.
I won’t have to have “the talk” that many black parents dread. Instead, I’m teaching him to be an ally to his future black friends, to protect and advocate for them because he will have privileges despite being just as black as they are.
I’m preparing him for a world that will see him differently, even though he embodies both sides of his heritage. If this is what people mean by “luck,” then I would rather not be lucky at all.
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In summary, while I recognize the privileges my son may have due to his appearance, I grapple with the reality of a society where perceptions can be life-altering. My aim is to instill in him a sense of responsibility as he grows, ensuring he understands the complexities of his identity and the world around him.