I never would have realized the weight of the moment if the little item hadn’t slipped from my son’s pocket, hitting the pavement with a clatter as we hurried through the parking lot.
It was a pack of candy, something I had not purchased for him. My intention was solely to grab some superhero shirts for a friend’s birthday party we were already running late to.
“Did you take those!?” I exclaimed, yanking my son’s arm as we turned back toward the store. My heart raced. “You did! What made you think you could just take them? You asked me, and I said no! So you thought you could just help yourself? That’s it. No birthday party for you! We’re going home!”
“I saw them on the ground, so I thought they were free,” he replied softly.
“That’s nonsense, and you know it. You can’t just take things from a store without paying! You need to understand that if you do this when you’re older, Mama won’t be able to help you. Do you get that?”
Of course, he didn’t. How could he at his tender age?
With a mix of frustration and shame, I marched into Old Navy, pulling my son and his little sister along. With a stern expression, I approached the cashier. “We mistakenly took this,” I said, placing the candy on the counter.
The cashier looked bewildered but nodded, and we left the store. Surprisingly, we still attended the birthday celebration. I felt bad for my daughter; why should she suffer for her brother’s misstep? Plus, we were already there. I gave him a time-out for the first hour, where he couldn’t join in on the fun.
After the party, I made the decision that he would return to Old Navy to apologize to the security guard and the store manager. As he stood before them, tears welling in his eyes, I couldn’t help but notice the sympathy from the young staff members—two white men, likely around 30 years old. They looked at my son, a sweet little black boy, and seemed ready to comfort him, viewing this as a harmless childhood mistake.
I spoke about the incident with friends, both black and white, who shared their own childhood stories of mischief. Many agreed with my approach of giving my son a time-out and making him return the goods. However, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was overreacting, digging into my fears and worries.
In a different context, I might have felt justified in my outrage, but I knew better. The stakes are higher for children of color. A friend recently told me about her teenage nephew, who faced no repercussions after stealing from a corner store. Would that have been the case if my son was in a similar situation? I envisioned him at 15, tall and strong, caught in a confrontation with a store owner unwilling to let things slide—a minor mistake could lead to severe consequences.
Instead of being angry at my son for a typical childhood error, my frustration should have been directed at the broader societal issues we face. Why, decades after the civil rights movement, do black parents worry that their children will be judged by their skin color rather than their character?
How is it that parents like me have to prepare our sons for “the talk,” where one wrong decision could lead to life-altering consequences? And why do many white parents seem unaffected by these fears?
Parenting has its challenges, but navigating these complex disparities takes an emotional toll that often feels unbearable.
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In summary, my son’s innocent act of theft opened a much larger conversation about race, parenting, and the fears that come with raising a child in a world fraught with double standards. The journey of parenthood is complicated, but the lessons we learn are invaluable.
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