Raising H & O

When my boys were little, I wouldn’t let them play with Nerf guns because I thought it was too dangerous for them.

Why? Because of kids like 12-year-old Tamir Rice.

When they were in middle school and high school and would walk to the local Wawa or Landhope, I instructed them to remove their hoodies before entering the store.

Why? Because of 16-year-old Travyon Martin.

When they were learning to drive, I constantly reminded them (and still do!) to be overly polite to the police if they were pulled over and to keep their hands on the steering wheel at all times.

Why? Because of Philandro Castile and hundreds of other Black drivers. (DWB is real, unfortunately. The stats prove it.)

This is the sad reality of raising Black and brown kids in America. Especially Black and brown boys and young men. It’s scary—and infuriating.

Throughout their 19 and 22 years, respectively, O and H have experienced their fair share of bigotry and prejudice—from daily microaggressions to blatant racism. They’ve been watched, questioned, insulted, harassed, and taunted. They’ve been called the N word (hard R) more times than I can count, and through it all, they usually remain stoic. Calm and undisturbed.

I’m proud of them for that. We’ve taught them that it’s not worth ruining their lives over someone else’s ignorance and hate. But if I’m being honest, I wouldn’t blame them if they popped off every now and then.

Case in point: Last weekend, O was down at the Shore with some friends. More than once, a (white) woman pulled her purse close to her side when he passed by or stood in line behind her. Then, a group of young (white) teenage boys tried to goad him into a fight, calling him the N word (hard R).

For the first time, he thought about fighting back. About calling out the racism he experienced over and over again in the span of just 24 hours. He was fed up. He had reached his limit.

But as angry as he was, he thought better of it—knowing the cops would blame the Black kid from out of town, rather than the white kids with big beach houses.

While I’m proud of O for taking the high road, I’m not sure I would have—because, I, too, am fed up. Fed up being worried. Fed up being scared. Fed up being angry.

So here’s my message to the privileged white folks of Avalon (and elsewhere) … Fuck you.

Do better.

—LJDT