Friday, July 17, 2015

The Tough Stuff

On occasion I am bogged down by the tough stuff.  For the most part I am far more inclined to live in the moment as opposed to getting stuck in the muck, but when it happens it certainly does drag me down.  As the mother of bi-racial children I am acutely aware of certain realities.  The realities that exist for my boys and my husband that when they are not with me I do not face at all.  I often wonder where I fall.  What role I will play in shaping their views when it comes to race and racism.

I am often told by white friends and family that I am just far too sensitive.  I have even been told that history shows that racism is in the past.  That is not my experience and as the blonde hair and blue eyes look back at me when they say those words, I cannot fathom how they would even begin to formulate that opinion.  So I feel stuck because I cannot educate someone who has this belief that they are mistaken.

When those people who share my own blood do not stand up for my immediate family, I feel deeply betrayed.  The feeling washes over me and my blood runs cold when I see a post on social media about how privilege does not exist or a meme regarding the historical significance of the confederate flag should be acknowledged and protected, a “like” for Paula Deen or and all lives matter hash tag.  As a result I have excluded them from my life and the lives of my children.  You are not allowed to like a photo of my children, but not fundamentally support them in the most basic and human way.  To proclaim that their lives matter as much as your children’s is needed because right now it is clear that they do not.  There is a preponderance of evidence to the contrary and it is continuously ignored by so many.

It is not enough to say they would be angered if my children faced something that their child would never have to face and in the same breath say it won’t because I will raise them well.  What if they were questioned if the house they live in is actually their own, stopped on their bike for looking suspicious or walking around the neighborhood with two of their friends visiting.  This is what my husband faced as a child growing up in an affluent neighborhood.  When he tells people many shake their heads in disbelief rather than in disgust.  He was raised so well and he speaks so well.  How could this be? And yet some people readily dismiss this knowledge and opt for the fact that there had to be a reason aside from race that prompted the attention.

These are the excuses that I cannot stomach.  The lack of action as people are killed.  The articles and opinion pieces that rise up to pardon what is happening.  The use of different language to mask the guilt of the worst of the worst.  That it is playing a card to even bring it up as an issue.  The lack of acknowledgement that there is a problem at all.  The fundamental inability to be empathetic and to walk in someone else’s shoes. To see a black child as their own and yet I do because they are my own.  And this is where I am stuck.

Where does this leave me and for that matter where does this leave other white parents of bi-racial or black children? I am struggling deeply with the answer because we are not the typical “good” white people.  We do have a stake in this for the sake of those we love the most.  Yet we do not understand what it is to be black.  Is it up to us to change the world?  Do we take up the megaphones and stand in the front lines in the protests?  Do we try to educate those around us that a flag coming down does not equal justice for so many lives lost?

From what I read and the discussions I have had, the answers are no because we are allies for racial equity and justice.  I still do not know how to effectively be an ally.  I am struggling with the role and the fact that I have not been given any clear responsibilities.  I want to scream “Just tell me what to do and I will do it!”.  Within me there is an inherent need for leadership and direction.  I will wait for that guidance to come soon.  Until then I will continue to try to find ways to make a difference until hopefully someday “the talk” means the same thing to all parents and the definition of tough stuff is universal.

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