“There was something so valuable about what happened when one became a mother. For me it was the most liberating thing that ever happened to me. Liberating because the demands that children make are not the demands of a normal ‘other.’ The children’s demands on me were things that nobody ever asked me to do. To be a good manager. To have a sense of humor. To deliver something that somebody could use. And they were not interested in all the things that other people were interested in, like what I was wearing or if I were sensual. Somehow all of the baggage that I had accumulated as a person about what was valuable just fell away. I could not only be me—whatever that was—but somebody actually needed me to be that. If you listen to [your children], somehow you are able to free yourself from baggage and vanity and all sorts of things, and deliver a better self, one that you like. The person that was in me that I liked best was the one my children seemed to want.”–Toni Morrison and Motherhood: A Politics of the Heart
Just yesterday I stood for a few minutes at the top of the stairs leading to a white doctor s office in a white neighborhood. I watched one Black woman after another trudge to the corner, where she then waited to catch the bus home. These were Black women still cleaning somebody else’s house or Black women still caring for somebody else’s sick or elderly, before they came back to the frequently thankless chores of their own loneliness, their own families. And I felt angry and I felt ashamed. And I felt, once again, the kindling heat of my hope that we, the daughters of these Black women, will honor their sacrifice by giving them thanks. We will undertake, with pride, every transcendent dream of freedom made possible by the humility of their love. June Jordan, On Call, 1985
Several months ago, my little one and I were at a fast food place, waiting for our order. An older Black man walked in, dressed to the nines. It was a Sunday, so I’m guessing he had just come from church. He stopped in front of us, and gazed at my son. My toddler, who was playing with his toy, looked back. He flashed a grin. The older Black man raised an eyebrow. “Your boy has Sidney Poitier’s smile.” He said. Then he gave us the required Black head nod and wobbled away to stand in line.
The encounter with the older Black man, sums up my interactions with Black folks when I am with my child. They are usually loving, and say encouraging words. I think it’s because they understand Black children aren’t appreciated in our society. I mean, we live in a country, where non-Black people will argue passionately why it was okay for a 12-year old child to be murdered carelessly by police (Tamir Rice).
We don’t get the same warmth from white folks. Since we live in a majority white city, when we’ve attended play groups at the library, park, or wherever…white parents dominate. Usually, they ignore us. And if they do give us any kind of attention it tends to be in annoyance or confusion. White parents generally have no respect for Black parents. They also keep a suspicious eye on my son, while their child is tearing up the place.
Recently, my little one and I were at a store. I stood in the aisle trying to remember the things I needed to get, as my son sat in his stroller. There was an older white woman, across from us, waiting in the pharmacy line. My son waved at her and said “Hi!”with his signature smile.
The white woman looked at him, curled up her lips, and rolled her eyes. I couldn’t believe it. It took everything out of me not to pop her eyeballs out. Then she would have nothing to roll. Instead, I casually walked passed her, and gave her the middle finger. Her face turned red, and she quickly walked to the front of the line. She better had.
Sadly, it’s not the first time I’ve seen white folks act like “shitholes” to my kid. White supremacy/privilege/racism is such…most white folks can’t even stop themselves from being hateful to Black children.
So, H&M’santics didn’t really surprise me. As more grown Black folks are becoming “sick and tired of being sick and tired” and resisting/organizing against white supremacy, like never before, Black children are easy targets. They are innocent and impressionable. They haven’t learned yet how to counter anti-blackness.
And no. I don’t care if the mother doesn’t care her son was humiliated for the globe to see. Some Black folks use denial as a way to escape white violence. Also, I believe the mother lives overseas. She probably doesn’t know thatmonkey images have been used consistently in American culture to degrade Black folks. Plus, we are living in a Trump world. White supremacists are trying their hardest to bring back the “good old days.” A time when they could abuse Black folks anyway they wanted, and faced no consequences.
There is an agenda to destroy Black children. That’s why it’s easy to leave themfreezing in a public school. Black parents have to stay vigilant and fight white supremacist attacks on our kids.
Remember, a few years ago when Fox News insisted Santa Claus was white? I’ll never forget the incredulous look onMegyn Kelly’sfacewhen suggested Santa could be a Black man (or any man of color). It would be funny, if it wasn’t sad. I’ve often wondered why isn’t more written about white pathology? To insist that a fictional character is white…speaks to an underlining obsession with white supremacy/privilege. It’s rather strange.
In any case, as far as my son is concerned (and other Black children)…Santa is Black. I was excited to see several opportunities around my city, to visit a Black Santa. I took my toddler for the first time. He kept it together, for the most part. Okay, two huge tears rolled down his cheeks as he clutched his candy cane, but at least he didn’t punch Santa (whew!)