I don't care about your black kids.

(do I care about the kids themselves? Probably. But if we're having a talk about race, any mention of your kids better be fucking relevant.)


I am a Black Woman. I don't say that often because it's not how I identify myself, but how America identifies me. If forced, I will say that I am a brown woman, if I need to give specifics, I will say that I'm mixed race.

As a black woman, I am treated as such. There's no difference in the way people treat black or mixed people. Unless you can pass, which I cannot, your blackness is visible and informs how this country treats you. And what I'm talking about here is the black experience, not the fetishization of skin tones. For the black experience, if you are perceived as black, you are treated as such.

As a mixed woman, I'm half white. I've grown up with less fear of white people as a result, but growing up black has made me more careful, and fearful than I was as a child.

I know that all white people can be racist, and I know, firsthand, that they won't see it until they HAVE to see it, but sometimes, if they see it enough, they stop needing it pointed out to them.

My mother is a White Woman. She grew up with her own experiences and lived with them. When I was growing up, she didn't question my many suspensions, complaints of me acting out, the IQ test I was forced to take to prove that I wasn't mentally deficient because I didn't feel like doing homework. She assumed that I was seen as a child, she didn't understand that I was seen as a Black Child, and that that is something very different when there aren't that many in the school.

As a young adult, she assumed that I would be able to move through the world as she had, because she knew no other experience. She didn't question the large security deposits and questionable and illegal things that I had to deal with when renting apartments, those were just bad landlords.

It wasn't until I was an adult that I realized that my mother, who has been with me all of my life, never saw the microagressions directed at me, because she assumed that I moved through the world the same way that she did. She always questioned why I wouldn't raise a fuss in stores to get what I wanted, or why it was so hard for me to return things.

She didn't even know that CVS will ask SOME people for their CVS card as proof in order to redeem extra bucks, because for years she's never heard the question asked.

I have spent years pointing out what I can, and still, sometimes she won't notice something until I point it out. My mother loves me, completely and unconditionally. She'd step in front of a gun for me, she would do anything for me and I know that, but that doesn't mean she knows what it is to be black in America. She knows what I've taught her, what my brother taught her, and what she's seen. She's a good ally, but she walks through the world as a white woman, and benefits from racism constantly without question. If it's brought to her attention she will question it, but sometimes she just doesn't notice and I'm tired.

So if we're talking about race, don't tell me about your black kids, your black partner, your black friends, and assume that you have nothing to learn. If a black person is telling you that you have something to learn, sit down and listen.

Loving a black person does not make you immune to racism. There's no magic anti-racism switch that turns on the second you truly care for a black person. It's just not that simple.

Racism in our country is constant, toxic, and everywhere. You need to pay attention, and you need to listen when someone tells you something, and not fall back on the black people in your life, as if they are a magical shield that means you can do no wrong. You can, you probably will, and it's ok if it happens, if you can learn from it and do better.