I’m pregnant but don’t know if I’m having a boy or a girl. I have to admit that one little part of me, deep deep inside, has hoped Honey Badger is a boy. Someone to carry on the family “name,” which is an absolutely archaic conceit that I’m ashamed to admit that I even give any credence. But, there it is. And of course, I would love a girl too — any baby is a blessing.
But I’ve just been feeling so much pressure now of what it means to possibly be bringing up a black boy in this world. And I am so pre-emptively afraid. What if I don’t teach this kid about how to act in front of police officers? How do I help him understand that he needs to be compliant around people who would find him “suspicious,” even if he’s done nothing wrong, without breaking his little spirit?
This is really the first time I have felt the huge responsibility of doing this without a man in the house who may be able to explain life in a way that I simply cannot. Because although I am black, I’m not a black MAN, facing the unique concerns that exist for black men.
I imagine that it’s the pregnancy hormones that are getting to me right about now, but I just can’t think about the many young black men being shot over the past few years without wanting to cry. I’m trying to figure out, how do you keep your kids SAFE? I have wondered recently whether I’m actually brave enough to do this. Bad time to suddenly develop misgivings….
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