Third Grade, Hard Conversations

My son starts third grade in the fall. It’s the start of my son becoming a young man and I can see it. The beginning transition has begun. He is truly one of a kind and his observance of the world around him and his level of understanding still surprises me every day. He is avidly aware of other people’s feelings and he has such an expansive heart, so willing to share compassion for others.

It’s like he innately knows when someone might need a hug or a tender smile. And out of the blue he will share a bit of himself to help bring the spirits up of those around him. Truly, he is one of a kind. I hope he never loses that sense of compassion and his ability to empathize with another person’s feelings as if they were his own.

I am so proud of him and just know it is only the beginning of the man he will someday be.

As my husband and I look to this upcoming year, we realize that as he ventures into the third grade, we are rapidly coming to the point in his educational curriculum that US History will begin to take shape. He will learn about our great and our dreadful history. As a young black boy he will sit and learn about slavery, about lynching’s, about the ‘less than’ mentality, about the brutal beatings and rapes, about the many protests and persistent fights just to simply gain equal rights, and further the consistent battle that remains embedded in our country and in this world. He will see pictures of young men hanging from a tree who resemble his father. He will hear that his Nana was unable to sit in the same seat or even share an outdoor water fountain as those of her white peers when she was just his age. He will hear of the interracial couples who were brutalized and ostracized simply because love brought them together and he will think of me. He will have to internalize the pain that this will cause and all the questions that come with it. “But why, Mom?” And maybe even, “does that mean that I am less than my cousins and even my own mother because I am caramel and not white”? And worse, “Are there still people who hate me because of my skin and they don’t know me, Mom?”

My husband and I know that with what is coming we want to prepare him as best we can. We need to have a conversation with him prior to third grade about all of this so that I can somehow help to prepare him. Ugh, my heart literally breaks just thinking of it. As dreadful as it will be, I have to. I have to look at my son this summer and tell him that there are some people, still, that will have hate in their hearts and will judge him immediately upon looking at him. I will have to make sure he knows that not everyone is like that and I will have to explain to him why although I am white why I am different. Why so many others are different and choose to walk in love instead. I will have to explain to him the difference. And I will have to see the broken, gentle heart of his as my husband and I try to prepare him.

As his mother, I cannot protect him from that pain. I can only prepare him. As his mother, I cannot protect him from hate, I can only prepare him. As his mother, I cannot guard him from why some people are racist and why some are not. But I can, and I will, ensure that who I surround him with rather black, white, or any color in between is a person he will learn love from. I can ensure that those that are in his sphere of influence, even if they are family, friend or foe, is someone who represents honesty, integrity, and love. That love should be for ALL, your neighbor to the left and your neighbor to your right. That love for your neighbor means no matter that neighbors skin color, their preference of who they choose to love, where they live, or what political party they attach themselves to. I can control who I allow to get close to my family and who I allow them to look up to and show him how he should act, speak, and how he should always let his heart lead with love.

His third-grade year is upon us. I am dreading it, I am viscously scared of it, and I am shattered already on the inside because of it. My sons bubble will be burst wide open, and my husband and I will be the ones to do it. I just pray his one of a kind ability to empathize with others and his tremendously kind heart remains intact, even if a few bits and pieces chip off.