To the White People in my Town...

My son is black. It can’t be hidden, nor would I want to hide it. It is a fact. The rest of our family is white, but my son is black. It makes him stand out. This is obvious by the many people who come up to me while we are out and ask me what his ethnicity is, who ask me if he is “mixed”, who ask, and ask, and ask. I know you are just curious. I know that you don’t realize what you are doing. But you are one by one making this world a place where he is defined by his skin color. It is a hostile act, done under the cloak of kindness, of small talk, of friendliness. You see, there are many people that talk to babies and small children in grocery store lines, waiting for the bus, out for a walk… you ask how old the kids are, comment on cool new sneakers, or toys that make a funny sounds… you ask about school, about brothers and sisters, about days spent playing… but that’s not what you ask about my baby. The thing that people most often ask about… is his skin. Now I know, a lot of you are probably reading this thinking I’m over reacting, you might think I’m being overly sensitive about “race”… playing a card I ought not to bring into the equation. But I’m not. You ask about my son, because I’m white and he’s not. Because you identify with me, because you think I won’t be offended by it, because I’m not black. If I were black too, you wouldn’t ask. That’s what’s offensive. When I was pregnant, I was told this would happen. I didn’t believe it. I hoped that my baby would arrive into a world where I could protect him from this. But the fact is, if a child walks around in a world where everyone comments on the size of his feet, pretty soon he’s going to become self-conscious about them. The same thing happens with skin color. Individually, you are all being friendly, you think that acknowledging the difference is accepting it, but you don’t understand. Collectively, the fact that you seek me out to point out the difference shows me that you don’t accept it at all. I know… you don’t mean it that way. That’s why I am writing this. That’s why I am taking the time to tell you. Don’t comment on the color of his skin, comment on his toy, his smile, or his beautiful eyes…