I first became aware of the stereotypes surrounding my son when he was a toddler. Whether we were at the park or a nearby play area, any minor altercation among children would draw the attention of onlooking parents, often leading their gaze directly to my son, who was frequently the only child of color present. This reaction seemed almost instinctual, sadly predictable.
Just a year earlier, my son, with his caramel skin and twinkling brown eyes, was a delightful newborn. Strangers would stop us to admire his cuteness, often engaging him with playful voices and gentle tickles in hopes of earning a smile. However, as he transitioned from babyhood to toddlerhood, his growth became rapid—he was in the upper ninetieth percentile for height and weight, a solid boy without an ounce of baby fat, appearing much older than he was.
This change in his appearance unfortunately altered how others perceived him. If he expressed frustration or had a tantrum, we often felt the weight of disapproving looks and whispered comments. When he acted like any typical toddler, snatching a toy from a peer, I could hear the annoyance in the parent’s voice. The urge to label my son with a t-shirt displaying his true age crossed my mind, but deep down, I understood that his size wasn’t the only factor at play; it was the color of his skin that made others uncomfortable.
A particularly jarring encounter happened when my son was two-and-a-half. An acquaintance commented on his growth, and I smiled, acknowledging, “Yes, he’s a big boy.” Without hesitation, she added that he was a “cute little thug.”
The following six months brought my son to preschool. During a parent-teacher conference, the teacher leaned in and asked me, “I probably shouldn’t ask this, but was he born addicted to drugs?” I was left speechless and realized that such assumptions were not directed at every child. I promptly reported the incident to the principal, ensuring my son was placed in a class with an educator who would appreciate him rather than judge based on preconceived notions.
Being a large, black boy in today’s America presents unique challenges for my son and our family. We are acutely aware of the preschool-to-prison pipeline, and we have made the decision that our children cannot play with toy guns outside of our home, understanding the fatal consequences such actions can have, as illustrated by the tragic case of Tamir Rice. Our primary concern is always his safety.
The harsh reality is that black boys are often unfairly labeled as dangerous or suspicious simply due to their existence. Consequently, we are preparing our son for a world that will frequently question and distrust him. At just six years old, he understands that when we enter a store, he cannot wear his hood, must keep his hands visible, and cannot touch items unless he intends to purchase them. His rules differ significantly from those of his white counterparts because he will always be viewed with suspicion.
Recently, while attending a medical appointment with two of my children, my son’s excitement was palpable. As he climbed onto the exam table and reached for the overhead lamp, the assistant shot him a scrutinizing look and barked, “Are you always like this?” Her comment referred to his exuberance.
As his mother, I view his lively spirit as a gift, a reflection of his enthusiasm and personality. Yet, to the medical assistant, he was seen as a disruption, a child needing to be restrained. After all, he is a black boy.
People’s assumptions about my son stem from societal conditioning, shaped by media portrayal that often depicts brown skin as problematic. What I wish is for those who harbor such fears to see my son as he truly is. He is deeply caring and empathetic—a quality that is all too rare. Last year, he comforted a crying classmate by simply sitting beside her, offering his presence and support without needing to know the reason for her tears.
As a nurturing individual, he took it upon himself to care for our newly adopted child, feeding her a bottle while softly singing to her. His camaraderie with his older sisters transcends any activity they choose, be it playing with Barbies or engaging in superhero play.
I will always cherish the moment he stopped to introduce himself to a group of women after church, charmingly kissing one’s hand and smiling. He has an innate ability to connect, making friends wherever he goes. Just this past Sunday, he took his time getting to his classroom, stopping to shake hands with adults in the hallway.
This is my son: empathetic, energetic, playful, intelligent, and undeniably handsome. He is not an exception; there are countless black boys like him, brimming with potential, deserving a life unbound by the stereotypes that attempt to confine them.
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In summary, as we continue to raise our son, it is imperative that we challenge the stereotypes that society imposes on him. We strive to ensure that he grows up knowing his worth and the beauty of his identity, free from the chains of prejudice.