1/
The conversation between my sons was so mundane. First they talked about Tiktok. Then about our upcoming vacation. It sounded so easy.

I was glad.

Son 1: “Hey mom? Is it okay if we rent bikes down there?”
Me: *typing* “Sure.”
Son 2: “Yes sirrrr!”

*high fives brother*
2/
Son 2: “Hey mom? Do we have to be with you and dad like elementary school? Or can we roll out like we did last year at spring break?”

I stopped scrolling through my emails and looked up.

He was asking for a reason.
3/
Son 1: “It should be fine, right? We go there all the time and it’s fine.”

I still hadn’t spoken.

See, this place is one of of our happy places. Where kids rent beach cruisers, eat ice cream, & find seashells. Where cousins & friends fold into one another in joyful piles.
4/
But things were different now. It didn’t feel like enough to discourage pulled-up hoodies and admonish them to “stick together.”

I didn’t know what to say.

And yes. We’ve had “the talk” many times. And revisit it often. But things are different now.

For a lot of reasons.
5/
First, they’d moved from being cute little black babies to mannish teenagers. They aren’t even remotely culturally ambiguous—unmistakable in their blackness.

And second, the obvious. To use an old neighborhood expression:

“The block is hot right now.”

Yeah. That.

Sigh.
6/
What to do? Like the diagnostic reasoner that I am, I sifted through various schemas in my head. Factored in base rates & potential likelihood ratios before making a call.

Hmm.

Then I did what I always do to organize my thinking—created a problem representation.

Yeah. That.
7/
Here it is:

“This is a teenaged male with pecan-colored skin, knotty hair, and afrocentric features associated with a brother of similar appearance who presents with >13 years of being black to a safe but homogenous beach town on rented bikes without their parents.”
8/
Like always, that helped me narrow things down. But, like always, I still wasn’t sure of my plan.

Me: “Gents? Let’s see what dad says about that, okay?”

They groaned in response. But they didn’t fight me. I knew they got it.

And that was that.
9/
I asked my husband. He says we just have to keep on living. And not let fear & hate rob us of joy. He also said: “Ain’t nothing new. The block BEEN hot.”

He’s right.

But the dx reasoner in me still struggles with the prevalence of ordinary days turning black sons into a #.
10/
Daughters, too.

I’m still not sure where we’ll land on the independent biking. And no—I’m not soliciting advice. We’ll figure it out as parents do.

But.

Really? I’m just mourning the simplicity of earlier times when them being a perceived threat wasn’t even a thought.
11/
Man. These are complicated times. Even more complicated than the complicated that they already were.

And no. My first world beach vacation dilemma does not come even close to any of the REAL, TRUE tragedies in the news right now.

At all.

But.
12/
The reason I share this is because it underscores this constant worry that in just a twinkling of an eye any of us could be the next hashtag.

Which sucks.

Look. I just want to humanize what it’s like to navigate racism while black. This is NOT hypothetical, man.

Nope.
13/
Real talk? The block has BEEN hot, man. For years, man.

The only difference is that now somebody can film it on a cell phone and tweet about it.

Yeah.

Listen—keep listening and being disrupted with us. It’s the only way we can revise this illness script.

#BLM ⛓💔✊🏽
You can follow @gradydoctor.
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