Parenting in Black and White: But What About the Children?

I had my first child at 24 years old, and what I knew about raising kids you could put in a shot glass. To add to the child rearing confusion, I was the white mom of a biracial baby at a time when little was written or meaningfully discussed about racial identity development and effective parenting of biracial children. We have come a long way since then. The election of President Obama, a biracial man of African and white American descent was a personal victory for me as the mother of black Jewish children.

When I married a black man in 1980 it was still cause for a stir, and the classic line was "What about the children?" This question was nothing more than a thinly veiled code for racism in the guise of concern for "the children". It conjured up images of poor confused children, cast aside from both black and white society, lost with no where to call home except the lonely and desolate fringe. Perhaps my experience was altered by living in the San Francisco Bay Area,a region with a reputation for racial tolerance; however, in my travels across the America with my children in tow I am certain of one thing- those who issued the warnings were more of a problem than that which they warned against.

That being said, my intention is not to minimize the racial issues my children faced.Race in America is complicated stuff, and emotionally charged.The election of President Obama has not eradicated racism, and in some respects, it has fueled the fire of bigotry and manifested in the Tea Party movement,obstructionism of any solutions he proposes, and in the extreme given rise to the Birthers who challenge his American citizenship. This comes as no surprise to me having walked beside and behind my kids for the past 28 years. I have been privy to the underbelly of racism, and in no way do I dismiss its potency. The election of the first African American President was not something I thought I would live to see; however,we have a long way to go. A very long way to go.

When my daughter Rena was born in 1981, I had several friends with biracial children. Most of these children had one black parent and the other was white, Asian, Jewish, or Hispanic. As parents we frequently engaged in long discussions about the racial identity of our children and the racism and conflicts they would inevitably face, including the varying response of our families to our marriages and children. My husband and I were united in the belief that our children would be viewed in the world as black, not biracial, and we would raise them as such. Pure race is a myth in America. My kids did not physically present different than most of their friends with two black parents. The sociological phenomenon is they had a non black parent, and their parent's union was voluntary. We had not created a new breed, our kids looked the same as many other black kids. And though they came from different circumstances, they would require the same coping skills in dealing with racism.

The absence of literature on racial identity development was the inspiration for my thesis in 1986. I interviewed parents of black/white biracial children to investigate how they influenced their child's racial identity. The findings aroused a great deal of interest, including invitations to appear on several local talk shows. As an exploratory study, it was meant to provide the springboard for further focused research based on the results of in depth interviews. Several of the parents interviewed subscribed to the colorblind theory and the notion that their children would be raised with a biracial identity, not black. Networks of parents such as I-Pride championed a similar approach. Certainly having one non black parent and extended family is a differentiating factor; however, several of the non black parents I interviewed and knew at the time had been cut off or experienced hurtful recrimination from their families. Parents who insisted their children were colorblind and deliberately refrained from discussing race proactively with their children might have been shocked to learn that when speaking with their kids, race was their subject of choice. Denial is the society response to race, and many of the parents I interviewed were no different despite the fact their children were on the front lines of racism, biracial or not.

My experience as a parent has reinforced my belief that preparation, not protection, is the best approach to race. Children pass through developmental stages with racial and ethic identity development as in all areas of their growth. Being colorblind is not considered an attribute when a child cannot differentiate between colors. Children quite naturally see color and difference, that has never been the problem, rather, it is the response of adults to difference that perpetuates negativity. When I was pregnant with Jonathan,Rena attended the Jewish Community Center preschool in San Francisco. One of her classmates, a white boy, came over to me and began to rub my large pregnant belly.
"What color is this baby going to be?" he asked.
His mother hovering nearby was quick to chastise him.
I put my hand up and said, "It's a really good question. Rena's dad is black and I am white so I think this baby will look like Rena."
"Oh, okay", and with his curiosity satisfied he scattered into a crowd of children climbing on the play structure.
I like this story, it perfectly illustrates the source of the problem, adults, not children doing what they do best, asking questions and trying to process their world. Children transition from the literal stage of racial and ethnic identity development to an awareness of the social meaning of race and ethnicity. The messages received from family, community and the media further reinforce racial and social stratification, and it is basically downhill from there.

What is it about race that provokes such divided and deep emotion? Our shameful past that has yet to be reckoned with? Or the legacy that persists, evidenced by glaring health, education and criminal justice disparities? The historical context of racism has been eclipsed by a shallow simplification and sensationalizing of the issues rather than confront the complexity required to achieve meaningful reconciliation. I am well acquainted with the kind of rage that erupts over racism, often restraining myself from reaching across a table to grab someone by the collar after a racist remark has been uttered, often with swagger and arrogance. It is personal in the most profound way, and taken as an affront against my kids and our extended family. I battled on behalf of my children for years against the racism they faced on a daily basis. When recounting my kid's experiences to friends both here in America and abroad, they often express disbelief. I might not believe it myself if I hadn't seen it with my own eyes. My 10 year old son stopped by police while riding his bike, followed in stores, and easily discarded into special education as if it was his rightful destiny. Racism is blatant and subtle, intentional and a consequence of ignorance. Either way it is the source of pain, and inexcusable. Perhaps the most amazing part is the resilience of my children, their ability to reconcile contradiction, imperfection and persevere in the face of adversity. They never lost their humanity and humor; however, the price has been steep in less obvious ways.

Imagine this: you are sitting at a cafe in Accra, Ghana with your 21 year old son, discussing race in America. The day has been pleasant, touring around Accra and a cool relaxing drink over an interesting conversation is the perfect conclusion to your first day in Ghana. What feels like out of the blue, the child you carefully ushered to adulthood declares that he never felt like he could be the smartest kid in the class. What does that do to a parent who has fought the hard fights, struggled to provide access to a quality education, exposure to art and travel, and articulate on a regular basis your belief in their talent and intelligence? For this parent it was a dagger in my heart. Perhaps more disturbing was the thought that if my son felt this way, what about the critical mass of black males who had not had similar advantages? I tried to conceal the depth of my despair and pain to spare my son or inhibit him from disclosing his inner thoughts and feelings. Ghana seemed a fitting location for for him to express himself, where the Davis family trajectory from Africa to America began. And apparently sorrow is still passing back and forth across the Atlantic.

So what about the children? What has come of those unheeded warnings? Rena graduated from University of California Hastings College of Law, one of eleven black students in a class of over four hundred. It was understandable that she choose to be a visiting law student at Howard University in her second year at Hastings. "I need to see a library full of black people studying everyday." With joy she described what it felt like to no longer be invisible to most of the men she encountered, her undeniable beauty inspiring interest and admiration. She needed the reprieve, and deserved it. As her mother, a white mother, I recognized her need and encouraged her to go. I never took it personally or as a rejection. My significance in their life is irrefutable, and strengthened by my ability to see the world through their eyes, and them through the eyes of the world. Self identify any way you like; however, be prepared for how the world defines you to better navigate the treachery. Sitting at a cafe in Frankfurt, Germany it occurred to me that regardless of how I might self identify sixty plus years ago the Nazis would decide for me, and march me off to the ovens with a yellow star sewn onto my clothes. Thinking otherwise might have cost me my survival.

Parenthood is not for the faint at heart, it is a gut wrenching experience in the best of circumstances that humbles even the most confident and accomplished (or it should). Being a white/Jewish mother of a black male and female comes with its own set of challenges. It was an absolute necessity to acknowledge how my kids would be viewed and not to shrink from discomfort, mine or other people’s. I have been the only white person in the gym during my son’s games for years,the one to speak up when racist remarks were made, refusing to accept the “color blind” theory about biracial kids, or kids in general. Backing down was not an option, and I had to teach by example. Most important, I could not bullshit my kids about racism or they would be road kill, or worse, I would loose my credibility with them. I would like to think I have played a part in their ability to define and assert themselves with confidence. I watched both my children walk across a stage to collect high school and college diplomas. They have been Bar and Bat Mitzvah in the Jewish tradition and celebrate the duality of who they are with grace and humor. We have boarded planes to destinations across the globe together and apart. They display a humanity and compassion with strangers that brings tears to my eyes. What about the children? Twenty eight years later my response is as follows: Take a look, the proof is in the pudding.