A Day in the Life of a Black Mom in America

These words were written by my friend, Latrice. I asked her to tell me her story. Tell me about the grief, the injustices, the perspective of being a black woman. Here is her powerful response.

May we hold these words with understanding and repentance.

When I had my son, I promised to give him the best life I possibly could. I worked really hard to not be a statistic - single mom, black and uneducated. I didn’t want to be like “them.” So I worked my butt off in school, I rarely asked for help and I wore the weight of our world on my shoulders. I graduated cum laude, proud, with my son by my side. I built a house my final semester in college, a homeowner at 23 years old. I remember going to a local store to pick out a washer/dryer, I was so excited to shop for my new home. I walked into the store and a salesperson greeted me as I was looking at a more expensive model at the front. I was quickly put in my place and reminded that the clearance section and lower priced models were in the back. Needless to say, I did not end up purchasing a washer or dryer that day.

“There were always the little things chipping away at my perceived worth and value.”

The little comments, the prejudices like these over time make you feel like you have to work ten times harder and that you will never be enough in this world. Here I was, straight out of college making $50K a year as an engineer being shown to the back because I couldn’t possibly afford a newer model washer and dryer set. There were always the little things chipping away at my perceived worth and value. But not until my son started growing from a toddler into a young man did I really begin to fear for his well-being and perception as a black boy in America. If we didn’t live in the area with the “best” schools, we enrolled our son in private schools. It always bothered me that those who could not afford the better schools were “left behind.” But what could I do about that? As a young kid, my son was so smart and athletic.He never really got into trouble, he was always easy going. He was (and still is) a good kid.

I kept him sheltered, his world was like a Utopia - until the Trayvon Martin killing occurred and stand your ground laws made me snap back into reality.

We live in Florida and that law seemed to never work in our favor.

I realized, the more he grew, the more he would be perceived as a threat by some. At the time, he was attending a school where the authorized uniform outerwear was a black hoodie. The angst I felt when he wanted to wear his hoodie everywhere. I would tell him, “don’t put your hood on” and “make sure you keep your hands out of your pockets.”

The older he got, the more real things got. Now, I had to blatantly remind him “don’t forget you are black, who do you think they will see first?” Scroll through your NextDoor App, and tell me how many posts you see about suspicious black teens walking down the street. And then read the comments from your neighbors. My mother’s heart aches for my son every time he leaves our four walls.

No longer could I just view him as my sweet son whom everybody loved, I had to start preparing him for a world that sometimes felt threatened by his utter existence with his dark brown skin.

I pray constantly that he would never even encounter any racism, profiling or prejudice, and if he does that God would intervene. In reality it is not if, it is when. Like when my husband was pulled over a few months ago as he was driving to North Carolina for work. We were on the phone, it was about 9:30 at night, the blue lights flash on and the fear and dread become so thick and overwhelming. He says, “I know I wasn’t speeding.” I tell him to keep me on speaker phone. The policeman asks for his license and registration, he complies. After some time, the cop comes back and tells him to step out of the car. He doesn’t say why, just step out of the car. I am terrified, my husband is mortified but he steps out of the car into the dark.

Every Trayvon Martin, Tamir Rice, Sandra Bland, Keith Childress, Michael Brown outcome flashed through my mind. The suspect does not have to be armed to be dangerous.

What if the cop is having a bad day? What if my husband doesn’t respond in the manner that the policeman expects? What if my husband shows that he is nervous because he, too, is having flashbacks of police brutality against blacks. The officer takes my husband to the back of the car to show him why he stopped him, a broken tail light. No ticket, no incident, praise God, but the minutes it took for him to get back into the car and drive away safely were excruciating. My husband handled himself well, I wonder if my son would? He doesn’t have the life experiences my husband does. He is still maturing, still growing into a man, what if he doesn’t act the way an officer demands?

Would the officer see my son like we do? Would the person who feels “threatened” look into his eyes and see that he has value? Or would they assume because he is black he is guilty of something. I wonder. And it makes me sad.

Me too, Latrice. Thank you for sharing your heart with every reader. May it develop in us deeper compassion and unity .

To all my friends reading this, please reach out to person of color that you know and invite them to tell their story. Weep with them over their suffering and injustices. Just listen and let them breathe.