News of the shooting of Trayvon Martin broke the day after my husband and I were married. We were catching our flight to the Bahamas while our home-state was becoming embroiled in one of the most controversial cases of racial injustice in recent memory.
When we returned from our honeymoon we followed the case with some interest – as an interracial couple we paid attention to these kinds of stories. As a middle-class white woman, now married to a black man, I was only just becoming aware of the extent of my privilege. The death of Martin and subsequent trial of George Zimmerman became foundational to my learning about racial injustice and white privilege. The fact that it took place in Sanford, FL, only twenty minutes from our home, made it all the more poignant. My heart broke over the unnecessary loss of life, railed at seemingly pervasive systematic injustice, and wondered how we would someday raise our children to both protect them from real danger and empower them to make real change.
Fast forward three years to find my husband and I celebrating our anniversary by welcoming our first son into the world. It is not lost on me that we delivered him in a beautiful, peaceful birth center in the heart of Sanford. For nine months I made the monthly, then bi-monthly, then weekly drive through this town so familiar with heartache. I prayed for every black man walking the streets – a prayer somewhat like holding my breath – “please God, don’t let him be next.” I prayed for justice and reconciliation to become hallmarks in this place of deep division. I wondered how and when I would tell my son about the history of the town in which he was born. The country in which he was born. I now know my privilege only protects him so far – he will not be sheltered the way I was. This knowledge brings about a unique tension. As a parent, I long to protect my child from the harsher realities of life, though I firmly believe protecting him from this reality will not yield the justice or reconciliation our culture desperately needs.
I’m still learning to navigate a world where race matters – a world beyond the well-intentioned colorblindness with which I was raised.
Fast forward a few years more to find my sons and I on a playground overlooking the St. Johns River in Sanford, passing time until my next birth center appointment. My oldest is now three and a half, and just becoming aware that people come in all shades and colors. As soon as we arrive, he is singled out by another young boy who follows him around, mildly antagonizing him as they explore. Eventually they get into a little scrap – the other boy swats my son’s face, my son shoves him squarely on his butt. At this point the boy’s dad and I intervene, and together we encourage our sons to use words, make apologies, hug it out. As boys do, they went on playing like nothing happened. Only later, when my son tells his dad about the events of his day, do my ears perk up as I hear him say, “That brown boy on the playground was bothering me – he put his hands on me and pushed me.” And every conversation since has started with my son saying, innocently enough, “That brown boy.”
What I recall from this exchange is that brown boy’s daddy, in the middle of the Florida summer, wearing a black pullover sweatshirt. It struck me as odd, and I vacillate between gratitude that this man felt safe enough in downtown Sanford to wear a black sweatshirt, now iconic from the Martin case, and skepticism. I still hesitate every time I dress my son in his favorite black Star Wars hoodie, and he’s only three – still young enough to be a cute mixed boy instead of a dangerous black man. I stammer over my words trying to understand what exactly my son means when he calls another little boy brown. Does he realize that he himself is brown? Does he attach any meaning to being brown, or to the fact that his daddy is brown and his mommy is not? Am I over-analyzing? Probably.
But the reality is this: what was once my privilege is now my handicap. I am reminded every time we drive to the birth center, now preparing to welcome our third son, of the weight of our responsibility and how inadequate I feel to carry it. I was not taught to engage conversations around race in a thoughtful, constructive way – I am piecing it together as I go, and I don’t want to get it wrong. My little brown boy’s life might depend on it.
Kayla is an aspiring writer with a background in counseling, currently working for her 3.5 and not quite 2 year old sons (with a 3rd boy on the way). She dabbles in many creative pursuits, but loves words the most. Her greatest joy is creating opportunities for people to connect more deeply with themselves and each other through meaningful conversations, and she can talk all day about being a #boymom, an Enneagram 9, and a recovering perfectionist. You can find her blogging (sometimes) at Letters to a Young Idealist.
Dear Kayla, thank you for writing about such a huge issue in our country. I have great hope that you and your husband and sons will make a new difference in our understanding of race. I believe it is through love that the push back of evil and race might actually make headway. I want to encourage you to keep writing. Keep having conversations. You have authority to speak love and confrontation to me and others who lack of awareness and understanding. The Allender Center is fierce about racial trauma. We are partnering with Impact and other “Kingdom Alliances” in hope of less division and more love and more equality. And of course this is not popular and evil is furious about this new and needed lens. You are a very gifted writer. Please keep on writing and speaking. With love, Becky Allender
Dear Becky, thank you so much for your kind words of encouragement! I love the Allender Center, and would LOVE to learn more about the Kingdom Alliances you referred to. Also, thanks for your point about evil not being happy about the forward movement of love in this (or any) area – such a great reminder. Glad we know who wins that battle! So grateful for this space to write and share, and absolutely looking forward to continuing to participate here. Many blessings, Kayla
Kayla, Thank you for your words. They are timely and true. I hear the complexity in them and the humility in you. It takes courage to engage what was not modeled for you at the risk of getting it “wrong.” Please keep piecing together what you are given to work with and stepping out knowing that the only way to really get it wrong is to do nothing. Blessings to you as you prepare to welcome the third little boy you have been given to love. What a sweet gift of hope for the future.
Wow Julie, thank you! “The only way to really get it wrong is to do nothing.” You have no idea what a sweet balm to the soul your words are to me this morning. I’m so grateful for your encouragement and glad this piece resonates. It’s very special to me! Blessings to you, Kayla
Nicely done Kayla. You have discovered a very nice path for exploration. I hope all goes very well for you.
Best,
David
Thanks much David!
Your voice is strong and clear. It matters! As a mom of kids from different races I resonate with the steep learning curve. I am being invited to wrestle with my own privilege. My heart is passionate about justice. I sense that echo in yours.
~Joanna
Thanks Joanna! The learning curve is steep but totally worthwhile.
Love yoU sissy
Love you too bud!
Kayla, we attend church together, but I doubt you know me. I also have bi-racial sons: each is half-Korean, half-white. I echo your thoughts about the process of realizing how much we have to learn.
My boys also look somewhat brown–more than their father and especially more so than me. They’ve clearly spent time in the sun! One early morning, biking to the playground when they were toddler and pre-school age, the younger one noticed an African-American boy biking to school. My son directed my attention to him and said, “He brown, Oh mah {Korean for “mom”}. He brown–that mean he Korean.” We’ve had plenty more conversations since that day, but the conversations about helping our children understand their identity will evolve as they grow–and as we grow. Thanks for your words. 🙂
Allison, I’m so glad you commented, and would LOVE to connect sometime! I’ve probably had your kids in SPLASH? Love your reminder that these conversations can evolve – we don’t have to have it all figured out just now. That applies to so many areas of parenting and life, huh? Blessings to you and your family. Hope we can make it a point to cross paths soon. =)