I read something today that hit home for me. I am the father of a young black boy. I look at him and see in him my hopes, dreams and aspirations for a better tomorrow. I want him to have a long, happy and fulfilled life and, even though I expect adversity for him, I want him to have as little as possible.

But, I also realize that he is a black boy. Right now, everybody goes on about how handsome he is (that’s not him in the picture, though) and how intelligent and alert he is. However, I know that, one day, he’ll be much larger and some will begin to look at him differently. They may not see his intellect or potential. Instead, they may see in him their own irrational fear of black men.

So, I sympathize with the mother who ponders, “But if I warn him to watch out for the police and white women, am I racist?”

As a teenager in the 80’s, I personally dealt with harassment at the hands of police who felt emboldened to say/do anything to us because we didn’t have the money or familial connections that cause police to think twice before doing so.

I also remember friends dealing with issues with the racist white parents of the girls they were dating. I even remember one schoolmate who got in trouble because the white girl he was dating (we all knew they were seeing each other) yelled “rape” when the two were caught getting it on in a bathroom in school (the truth later came out but, he was kicked out of school for a while).

Before you say “but, it was the 80’s”, I have a brother 9 years my junior and he went through the same thing in the 90’s. He’s now a 6′ 7″ black man so, you can only imagine the fear some feel of him. Hell, I’m only 6 feet tall and some operate with the same fear of me.

I say all of this to say that I know that these are real challenges for black boys.

Therefore, when the mother states the following, I empathize with her:

Every time I see a video of a black man being beaten by police, in my heart I fear that could someday be my son. When I hear a mother recounting her son being beaten by police officers, I fear for my son. I have seen too many videotapes of black men being beaten, read too many stories of black men killed by police, or shot multiple times, sodomized and brutalized. Will it be my son the police are slamming against a car? I wonder. Will my son be shot at 41 times and struck by 19 bullets, like Amadou Diallo, simply for pulling out his wallet? Or will he be shot dead on his wedding day, without explanation, like New York’s 23-year-old Sean Bell?

And, I also feel her on this:

Don’t get me wrong. I love my white sisters. I am not anti-white. But I am pro-life, the life and well-being of my son. I am not anti-police, but I am for protecting my son and teaching him to survive in an America where racial undertones impact human relations, in an America where the social taboo against black men fraternizing with white women remains, in an America where the stereotype that most black men are dangerous criminals still exists.

…
So I wonder if I should recount for him someday the Scottsboro case. Or should I show him the movie “Rosewood?” When he is old enough to stomach the photos, should I tell him about the fate of another Chicago boy, Emmitt Till, brutally murdered for allegedly whistling at a white woman? Or should I tell him about Marcus Dixon, a high school star athlete and honors student in Georgia who was accused of raping a white classmate and acquitted in 20 minutes, but was still sentenced to 10 years in prison for statutory rape?

The only other thing I would offer, that I don’t see here, is the quandary of what to teach my son about conflict and, unfortunately, this includes conflict with his black brothers. My son is very much like me so, he speaks up for himself and has a strong sense of what he feels is fair and just. But, what do you teach a child when a silly beef or someone’s want of his coat or shoes could cost him his life?

Raising a black son is a challenge. I only hope that what I am teaching him is enough.

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