I would have remained unaware of the incident if it hadn’t happened right in front of me. As my son and I hurried across the parking lot, a pack of candy slipped from his pocket, crashing onto the asphalt.
It was a pack of Mentos. I hadn’t purchased any for him. My focus had been on the Batman shirts I bought for a birthday party we were running late to.
“Did you take those!?” I said, grabbing his arm and turning us back toward the store. My mind raced—“What were you thinking? You asked if you could have them, and I said no!” I was incredibly stressed, realizing the seriousness of the situation. “You can’t take things that don’t belong to you! This isn’t just a game; you need to understand the implications.”
But how could he grasp the weight of my words?
We dashed into Old Navy, with my son and his little sister trailing behind. I approached the cashier, my expression a mix of anger and shame, and confessed, “We took these by mistake.”
Looking puzzled, she accepted the candy, and we left the store. I intended to head straight to Chuck E. Cheese’s for the party, but in the back of my mind, I knew I had to address the situation. I made my son sit alone for the first hour—no games for him. Afterward, I planned to return to Old Navy, where I hoped he could apologize to the security personnel and the store manager.
When the moment arrived, he struggled to meet their eyes, tears welling up. The two young white men exchanged sympathetic glances, almost wanting to excuse him for his innocent oversight. They saw a sweet little boy who had made a typical childhood mistake, testing boundaries without malicious intent.
I discussed this with friends, both black and white, who shared their own stories of childhood mischief. Many felt I handled the situation appropriately, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was preparing my son for a harsher reality.
In a different world, I could dismiss my panic as an overreaction fueled by fear. Yet, I knew that the stakes are far higher for children of color. Just the other day, a friend recounted how her “chubby white nephew” faced no repercussions after being caught stealing. I couldn’t help but wonder if it would have been different for my son.
I imagined him at 15, tall and handsome, facing a store manager who might not show the same compassion. The thought made my stomach churn; a minor offense could escalate into a life-altering event.
Instead of being angry at my son for a simple mistake, I found myself furious at a society where parents of black children must constantly worry about the implications of their actions. How is it that, decades after the civil rights movement, black parents still endure sleepless nights worrying about the judgment their children face?
It’s a harsh reality that most white mothers never have to confront. As a parent, the challenges of raising a child in such a double standard pushed me into a realm of anxiety and frustration that felt overwhelming.
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In summary, the experience with my son highlighted the stark reality of parenting while navigating societal biases. It was not merely a lesson in theft but an eye-opening moment about the world we live in.