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Racism And The Invisibility Of White Privilege.

I thought I might share a few things as a white mama of black boys. I actually have three sons — two black and one white. My white son is 29, and my black boys are 14 and 15. Here are some of the privileges I never realized I experienced raising my white son:

Not once…

… did I ever have to explain to my white son that people might be mean to him, and even hurt or kill him, simply because of his skin color.

… did I ever have to tell him to keep his hands out of his pockets while in a store.

… did I ever have to go into a store or a school with him to assert myself as his mother so that people would treat him fairly… so they’d think, “Oh, his mom’s white, so he’s okay.”

… did I ever have to tell him not to wear the hood up on his hoodie.

… did I have to wipe away tears and answer the question, “Mom, if a girl won’t be your girlfriend because her dad won’t let her because you are black, is that racist?”

… did I have to go looking for Band-Aids that would match his skin color, or use a marker to color the ones I could find, because the only ones sold at my local store are white flesh color.

… did I have to tell him that he has to always be on his best behavior, because he will get blamed for things before others do.

… did I ever have to go looking for things like books or artwork in specialty stores in order to find things that depict people of his same race.

… did I ever have to go to five different stores in order to find hair care products for his type of hair.

… did I worry about him walking home in the dark by himself out of fear he may be harassed.

… did I wipe away tears because someone called him a nigger.

… did I have to go to the school to raise hell about him being harassed for his race.

… did I have to tell him he couldn’t go play in the alleys of our neighborhood with the other boys who had Airsoft guns, because he might get shot.

… did I ever have to look at any situation he was in, and decide if there were racial undertones involved.

… did I have to go to court with him for something trivial, and witness the old white judge talking with every white child who was in there for the same thing but not say one word to my son when it was his turn — my son, the only kid in there who was dressed respectfully in slacks and a button-up shirt… then answer his question on the way home,“Mom, do you think that judge didn’t treat me the same because I am black?” with “Yes, son, I think you are right.”

… did I worry as my son left the house that he may get killed today, simply because of his skin color.

… did I have to explain that he will have to work harder in school and at work to make the same money as a white person doing the same thing — he will have to be better and work harder to prove himself.

… did I have to watch him go from being seen as the cute little brown boy to being perceived as scary or a threat as he grew into a big strong young man.

I could go on and on here, but I hope you can see that many of the privileges we experience as white people are invisible to us. We don’t even have to think about so many of these things in our daily lives, and don’t even realize it. I hope that sharing some of our story helps someone else understand the invisible privileges we take for granted.

In closing, a wise black woman once powerfully demonstrated how racism feels and wears on a person. She took my hand and ran her fingernail across the top, and asked me if it hurt. Of course I said No. She responded, “Well, what if I keep doing that over and over in that same spot for years? Eventually the skin will break, it will bleed, maybe fester and scab over. Then someone else comes along, does the same little thing which normally wouldn’t hurt, but breaks the scab open, and you scream and howl in pain and punch them in the face. That is how years and years of discrimination wear on a person, and why sometimes we react in the ways we do.”

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ChristyRichardsonChristy Richardson is legally the mother of four kids, but mothers and nurtures countless others around the globe. When she isn’t at work in research administration, or momming up on someone, she is a magical zebracorn who loves to dance. Connect with her on Facebook or via email.

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