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I’ve deeply considered having kids in a world where they will be black, where the color of their skin and the implications it asserts on their character will constantly be assumed as their reality. It’s not something I can control. I can’t decide to bear white children whose lives won’t be demeaned simply on the basis that their skin has less or more melanin than another. I can’t promise that my child won’t be the next Sandra Bland, or Trayvon Martin, or Eric Garner, or Tamir Rice. I can’t promise they won’t be judged. I can’t promise they will find peace in who they are. My children won’t be able to take off their skin…
So I’ve deeply considered having kids in a world where they will be black.
Sometimes I sit and think of what a silly risk it is to have color. I didn’t choose my color, just like I didn’t choose my eyebrows, my feet, or my hands. It’s simply a part of who I am and yet, the America that I belong to and the America that I know and understand treats me as though my body were a crime. Why should I have kids in a world so blind?
My answer is this. My mother bore me knowing I would be black. Her mother bore her with the same consent. If I have children I can teach them to live beyond the stereotypes, to implement change, to speak out against such ignorant intolerance, and to know and let it be known that you can not formalize what it means to be black. Because you can not formalize what it means to be human.
So I’ve deeply considered having kids in a world where they will be black, because the world may not be ready for it.
Now replace the word with Muslim, with Mexican, or even with woman and realize that change is necessary.
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