There has been some awkward moments in our lives when others have confusion over our family make-up. Like when we lived in New York City and I was at the park with my oldest before my second son was born. A kindergarten-aged girl came up to me and said, “Is that your baby?” I tentatively responded, “Yes.” As my immediate reaction was suspicion that he was going to be tattled on. Her eyes narrowed as she pointed to my stomach and demanded: “And he came out of your tummy?!” I swear it felt like all the mothers of every shade turned to me, awaiting my response. There has also been times when race full on smacks one of my boys right upside the head. A few years ago when my oldest hit his Tweens, I was picking him up at a park in Los Angeles. Out of the blue he said, “Mom, today was the first day I really felt different from my friends.” “Why?” I asked. “Because people at the park kept coming up to me asking to buy drugs.” Of course, as calmly as I could, I spouted all the correct things one should say to a bi-racial child that I had read over the preceding 12 years. But honestly, the moment was bigger than that. We held hands on the rest of the drive home.
Now here’s the sticky part. I’m a single mother. I try my best to do what’s right for my boys. As a stand up comic I have made jokes about my boys. Never about race, because the God’s honest truth is I hardly ever see their color difference. I know some people might say that’s bull. I think it’s similar in a way to when I was growing up. My mother was a German war bride. After she died, I was talking to one of my cousins saying, “Isn’t it awesome that my mother never had an accent?” My cousin about fell out of her chair laughing as she screamed “She had the thickest accent EVER!” I never once heard it. I can remember the things my mother had said to me, but to me she sounded like every other American. This is how I see my boys. I just see their actions and behaviors. However, when I look at our yearly holiday family photographs, I do see the difference in my son’s skin color compared to his brother and myself. And what might come as a surprise to some race baiters on both sides of the issue, is that when I see a picture of a young African American or Latino teenager, I simply see a child.
Now here’s the part where I’m worried that I’ve screwed up. This past week I got scared for my oldest. I took him aside and said to him, “If you are ever pulled over by the police, don’t make any hasty moves. Tell the police everything you’re about to do before you do it. That means if you want to take your hands out of your pockets, you ask them if it’s okay to take your hands out of your pockets. If your "white" skateboarding friends scatter, you stay and be cooperative, because it’s you who they’ll chase. Always answer “Yes Sir or No Sir.” Swear to me that you will do this!” My oldest completely understood what I was saying and walked over and gave me the tightest hug. Just then my youngest came up behind us, “What’s going on?” My oldest told him I was talking to him about how to behave around cops. My youngest replied, “Like how?” And I simply said, “Just be respectful.”
This is what’s wrong with America, and I might be part of the problem.
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