Addressing Racism in Myself Before Talking to My Kids

I always thought of myself as a "non racist," a person who knew it was wrong to judge someone by the color of their skin or believe a stereotype about a group of people. My parents always taught me that everyone is the same and should be treated equally. But we live in a world where you can no longer be "non racist," because it is more and more evident that not everyone is treated the same. We must now be anti-racist. In this personal essay, I write and reveal how I shifted to this thinking and how I needed to do this before I discussed racism with my children.

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I sat in disbelief, hoping what I was watching was just a dream, but no, it was a nightmare. I couldn’t take my eyes off of the screen as the reporter in Baltimore walked around the city. Freddie Gray had recently died in police custody and the city of Baltimore was rioting. I watched as the reporter walked past the charred vehicles and the damaged and looted businesses and cried. This was my city. This was where I spent my weekends in college, where I drove to my first job after graduation, and where I would get together with my husband and our friends for drinks or dinner. At the time of Gray’s death, I was living in Colorado, but my heart still longed for Baltimore.

I felt around for my phone, refusing to take my eyes off of the television and called my friend, Sam who lived just a few blocks from Camden Yards and right in the middle of it all.

“Are you safe?” I asked him as soon as he answered. I didn’t even bother with the pleasantries.

“Yes, I’m safe,” he said.

“Sam, what is going on over there?” I asked him, the tears continuing to roll down my cheeks.

“Kat, you can’t even believe it,” he said to me as he told me everything that was happening. Gray’s death, the peaceful protests and the ones that became violent, the gates at Oriole Park closing keeping the players, staff, and fans inside, and the governor deploying the National Guard.

Every time more information became available, I cried. I cried for the city I loved. The city I would bring my parents to when they would visit. The city whose museums I loved to frequent. The city where my children were born and where my students lived.

And yet, I still didn’t get it.

I would say things like, “It should be ‘All Lives Matter!’” and “You don’t kneel for the flag!” While I was outraged at the way Black Americans were being treated by those who were supposed to serve and protect, I just didn’t fully understand. When Kaepernick became the face of the 30th anniversary of Nike’s “Just Do It!” campaign, I knew it was time to research and learn more about the deaths of Trayvon Martin, Michael Brown, Freddie Gray, Eric Garner, and Tamir Rice. As I read more about their stories, I became even more outraged at what happened (or maybe I should say what didn’t happen) with the officers involved, but I still didn’t truly understand quite yet.

It wasn’t until a few weeks later, while sitting at home one night, when I decided to watch the movie Get Out. I yelled at Chris to get away from Rose and her crazy family and cheered when he escaped the house. But when, in the final scene, I sighed in relief at the sight of the police car while Chris’s head dropped as he slowly raised his hands in the air, I began to cry.

I finally got it.

I finally understood why and who Colin Kaepernick had knelt for. I finally understood why my students were told to keep their hands up if a police officer pulled them over. I finally understood that Black Lives Matter means Black Lives Matter, Too and not Black Lives Matter Only. I finally, truly began to understand my white privilege.

I still feel embarrassed and ashamed that it took me so long to see and I knew I needed to do something about it.

I used Kaepernick and the “Just Do It!” campaign as an example when I taught my class exploratory essays, looking at the topic of why he knelt from multiple points of view including background information on Kaepernick himself, the Black men he was kneeling for, the NFL’s

rules regarding the anthem, and even what our military men and women had to say on the subject. We discussed and argued these various points of view and resisted settling too soon on an answer. By the end of the class period, almost a third of the class had changed their position and supported Kaepernick’s peaceful protest.

After the deaths of George Floyd, Breonna Taylor, and Ahmaud Arbery I knew I needed to do more. I spoke out more on social media and in person when someone posted or said something racist and told them why their comments were inappropriate. I began seeking out Black owned businesses to support and, in the process, found the best milkshakes and cupcakes in Frederick County, Maryland. I asked a colleague for book recommendations to help educate myself and placed holds on the books Between the World and Me and The New Jim Crow. I began watching movies and television shows in the Black Lives Matter category on the streaming services I have and I participated in my school’s 21-day equity challenge. I began to feel like I was moving in the right direction.

Then one day I woke up to the news that two Black men died by hanging in California. That was when I knew it was time to say something to my children. I found them downstairs, smiling and laughing as they watched a cartoon on Netflix. I picked up the remote, turned the television off, and turned to them.

“Hey, guys, we need to talk…”

By Kathleen Kempert

From: United States