I am part of the problem

I am a white, privileged mom.

To my knowledge, I have never discriminated against any person of color.

I have always been aware of racial discrimination, but I have never experienced it personally.

I have never had to correct the offensive actions of others. I have never been forced to speak out.

But that’s because I am a white, privileged mom…who spent years hanging out with other white, privileged moms.

I have never protested.  I have never rioted.  But I’ll be honest. I’ve always considered myself a supporter but not necessarily one to be there in actual voice or presence. It didn’t feel like “my fight”.

But I also didn’t consider myself part of “the problem”.

I watch documentaries on false imprisonment, mandatory minimums, solitary confinement and gross maltreatment in the judicial system, but I’ve never voiced my strong opinions to any lawmakers.

As if my tears mean anything at all.

My teen-aged son listens to rap music.  I’ve shared some history of the genre, but not enough.

I’ve never had to warn him to be especially “polite” to police officers, if he happens to be pulled over in his pickup truck. And I’ve never discussed with him, the likelihood that his African-American friends may be treated differently.

I sing African-American Spirituals with more fervor than music of any other genre, but I’ve never told my children why. I’ve never told them the stories behind each spiritual I love…or that I’ve always connected so deeply to their history and immense power…so much so that I’ve been jealous of others who can sing them much better than myself.

I have been Sad.  Angry.  Awakened.  Alarmed.

Not at the protests.  Not at the riots. 

But at myself.

I am seeing my failures, and there are many. They are personal. They are familial. They will continue if I don’t protest now.

I have been ashamed of my complacency in the education of my own children, who are 18, 16, and just 10 years old. 

Because I know that I have failed them.

They do not understand all of what it happening in the nation at this moment, and that is no fault of their own.

I have watched films that I now know, should have been the focus of “family movie night”, because it’s MY job to educate my children about injustice and inequality.

I have asked my 10-year-old to define “racism” and heard a textbook answer that I know is not deeply understood.  I never asked the teacher what was being taught.  I have NO idea what material was actually presented.  (Well…I do NOW, and it’s not enough.)

I was complacent when my attempt to move my 10-year-old to the more racially and socioeconomically diverse elementary school in MY neighborhood, was met with argument by his father.  I was afraid that if I shared my passionate reasons for having him there, I might be generalized and discounted as a “flaming liberal”.  So, I gave up.  Yes, I drove him to his extremely white and financially privileged school that is several neighborhoods away.  His father even moved out of that neighborhood last year, and I STILL drove him there.  Shame on me.

The city doesn’t need me to protest.  The nation doesn’t need me to riot.

But my children need me to teach them.  My children need me to lead.

Because I DON’T want my daughter growing up to be another white, privileged mom, who got handed a car at 16, who has college paid for, who gets to lunch with other stay-at-home moms and have wine on the driveway and have a daughter who grows up to be to be another white, privileged mom who’s alarmed to realize…

I am part of the problem.