Just an Average (Black) Mom

Earlier this week I had the pleasure, honor and privilege of hearing Ms. Sybrina Fulton speak at Seattle University. 

My heart broke all over again as I listened to this self-described average mother recount the details of the horrific ordeal that was losing her beloved child, then bearing witness to his vilification in the media, and finally having to watch as his murderer was allowed to walk away completely free from punishment or consequence.  The justice system failed Sybrina Fulton the day George Zimmerman was acquitted.  It has failed horribly a great many of times before that day, and it continues to fail us still.  Unfortunately, when any sort of tragic loss occurs, it is most often the mothers who are left bearing the crushing, suffocating burden of this loss. 

More tragic still is the fact that even to this day, if you google Trayvon Martin among the very first images you will see are those of his dead body sprawled across the ground, pictures and memes of people mocking the murder of this child, as well as tons of images we saw used by the media immediately following his murder, leading up to and throughout the trial of his killer intentionally used to shape the narrative around this story.  Pictures of "Trayvon the Thug".  Images used in the dehumanization and denunciation of this child for his own murder.

You won't see images like this of Trayvon.

Like Sybrina said, she was just an average mom.  An average, black mom.  Raising an average son.  An average, black, teenaged son.  And yet, because of the perception of those things: of blackness, of maleness, of teen-ness in this country, her son's life was stripped away prematurely.  And the fact that there are people who seek to make light of this situation or see it as anything but a brutal, senseless, vile, and cold-blooded murder is truly the stuff of nightmares for other similarly situated women.  This fear is an inescapable reality for many other average, black moms raising our average, black sons.    

Try as we might, black mothers have little to no defense against this.  There is no cloak we can use to shield our precious, vulnerable ones from the gaze that will condemn them in a matter of seconds and in a single precursory glance make a damaging, most likely erroneous and far too often lethal assumption about who they are.

This truth manifested itself once again just this week when the hashtag #HisNameisCayden went viral after a mother discovered her son had been made the butt of hurtful, racist humor by one of her former co-workers who posted a picture of her son on his personal social media account without her knowledge. 

Whether we are seen and judged to be a joke, a threat or both based on the color of our skin is beyond our control.  Here we are, just trying to live, and as mothers, merely trying to raise our sons right, instilling in them a sense of pride while equipping them to lead fulfilling, successful lives knowing all the while that a run in with the wrong person and their unchecked prejudice could potentially negate our life's most treasured work.

I recall one day while pregnant with my son where I was volunteering at my mother’s office, when the topic of my finding childcare and going back to work once he was born came up.  I was suddenly hit with the realization that I would have to leave my child in the care of other people who would not value him the way I do.  Shockingly, this sudden realization produced such a strong reaction that I found myself in the throws of a full on emotional breakdown.  In that instant it hit me that these people would feel none of the love I felt for my son as he grew inside of me.  To them he might be just another snotty nosed little brat.  These strangers, in essence, may never appreciate him or his uniqueness.  They would not think he was special, or even especially cute.  They might even mistreat him.  The thought actually upsets me still today.  And yet, what other choice did I have?  Do any of us average moms have? 

Even before I had met him, I knew he would be my whole world, and yet I also knew I would have to leave him with people to whom he was just another name on a roster (one they could scarcely pronounce, as if to make matters worse).  A duty, to be engaged as such if they wanted to get a paycheck, and not likely much more.  I couldn't seem to delude myself into believing that the people working in childcare facilities, or schools were all there because of their overwhelming passion and affection for children.  Not all of them.  My own experiences prevented me from buying into that fantasy.  And so I was left to worry how I would provide for my child, and protect him at the same time.

It's not  just in school yards or daycare centers that this is a concern.  Anywhere in the world our children go they are subject to that judgmental gaze, and undue scrutiny.  Us average black moms know this, and sometimes find ourselves in a tight spot because of it.  Personally, I often find myself having to choose between stifling my son's process of self-discovery, his self-expression and risking the negative opinions people may form which could potentially threaten his safety.  I am left to grapple with the task of raising a man that is self-possessed and assertive, while impressing upon him how to appear non-threatening enough to ensure he returns home safely.  I have to prevent him from doing things that, for other children may be in good fun but for him could mean loss of life as black boys are perceived to be older, less innocent and more dangerous than their white peers.  He doesn't always understand why.  At his age, he shouldn't have to.  But that's life when you're an average, black mom. 

Near the end of the event with Ms. Fulton, a young college brother stood up.  He talked about the pain and ever persistent rage brewing within himself.  He wanted to know how, once you've done all you can to channel the anger and the hurt into something positive and yet so much of it still remains, how do we fight the urge to insulate ourselves, to draw in protectively, to segregate defensively?

Admittedly, this is a question I've faced and found myself struggling to answer over and over again.  The urge gets to be so strong sometimes to try and insulate my child completely.  To seal him off from the world for the protection his body and mind.  That is neither healthy, nor possible.

The reality is that no matter what piece or small portion of my child's life I choose to share with the world, I worry about how it will be perceived, and how our lives will be judged and critiqued.  There is no amnesty for black children in this country, perhaps not in this world.  We've all seen that.

If I post a picture from a day at the park, will people just see it and take it for what it is, or will they scour it for the dirt under the finger nails, lint in the hair or the stains on the clothes.  Will they be thinking "why has she let him go around with his hair looking so unkempt, so nappy?"  Will the assumption be that he looks uncared for?  Or too well cared for, in the way that is also used to condemn parents who spend money on expensive clothes and shoes and yet presumably do not invest adequately in the mental development of their children or spend enough quality time with them.  Children that are called entitled, spoiled, thugs.  It is a no win situation that can be at times exhausting.       

Sybrina implored all the mothers in the audience to imagine that they were in her shoes, but there was no need.  It's something that we've been doing all along anyway.  All of us average. black moms.

Side note for anyone who finds themselves justifying, sympathizing with, or believing the lie that Roth's actions were "taken out of context":

Geris Hilton posted an apology/ explanation of his actions/ words concerning cayden. When I went to his page I noticed...
Posted by Cleopatra Jones on Wednesday, October 7, 2015