A Tale of Two Boys

I’m going off-topic today. I have something rolling around in my brain, and although this blog is primarily about my fight with depression, I hope you won’t mind a little sidetrack about something that very directly affects me and my family.

You see, I have an adopted son who is biracial. His birthdad is black, and his birthmom is white. He’ll be twelve years old in a few days, and he is hilarious, goofy, witty, intelligent, creative, charismatic, ornery, timid, energtic, brave, messy, thoughtful, athletic, sensitive, loyal, and lazy — yet hard-working when you least expect it. He hates school and loves his friends. He loves to play basketball and football, and is constantly on the move. Anything that requires him to sit down, be still and focus is like torture to him (hence the hatred of school). He’ll be in sixth grade this fall, his last year of elementary school.

I also once knew another boy who reminds me a lot of my son, Jonathan. This boy was named Zach, and he was also the middle of three boys in his family. Zach had A LOT of the same personality traits that Jonathan has. I think a lot of the words I used above to describe Jonathan would apply to Zach when I knew him best as a middle and high school kid.

I don’t remember specific details, but when Zach was in middle and high school, I know he got in trouble a few times. He was a good kid from a solid, Christian family, who were supportive of the school and community. But he made some mistakes and got in trouble a few times at school. He didn’t like to follow the rules, he pushed the limits, didn’t go for the clean cut look (his hair was REALLY long at one point), had a very diverse group of friends, and he didn’t like school — so he tended to act out and get in trouble from time to time. Nothing too major as far as I remember, but I do know it caused his mother quite a bit of worry along the way.

Zach was a great kid, and is now a husband to a beautiful wife, dad to two beautiful girls, a coach, and a high school teacher with a master’s degree. He had his problems in his growing up years, but his strong family, his faith in God, and a community that cared for him helped him surmount any obstacles in his way.

I have often looked at Zach, seeing his similarities to my own son, and it has given me hope that it is possible for Jonathan to succeed in life. I know that even though Zach had some rough years that caused his mother to get on her knees quite a bit, he made it through and is now a successful young man who serves his community and his church. And I hope for the same for my son.

However, I reflect on this today because there is one difference between Zach and Jonathan that shouldn’t matter, but unfortunately it does.

Jonathan is biracial. Zach is white.

And I fear that could make all the difference.

If Jonathan goes through some rough years when he enters middle school and high school, will the color of his skin cause teachers, administrators, youth leaders, police officers, and bystanders to fail to offer the same compassion and grace they showed a white boy several years ago? Will he have the same support from his community that Zach had? If he’s not athletic enough, smart enough, or makes some poor decisions, will he be knocked further down, or will those who support him give him a hand to lift him up? Will there be underlying, undetected racism that directly impacts the course of his life?

I truly don’t believe that very many in our community and school district would willingly and knowingly treat our young man different than a white child of a similar personality. However, many of us don’t truly realize the underlying prejudice that guides our thoughts and actions. I myself have had to evaluate and reevaluate my thought processes over the years since I became the mother of a precious biracial boy…and I’m ashamed to say that what I’ve found dwelling in my mind has not always been what it should have been. I have attempted to purge every hint of racism out if me, yet I know I still have room to grow. I would maintain that very, very few of us are completely innocent in the way we view and treat others who are different than us, as much as we would wish to claim that we are.

So my question remains…what does the future hold for my curly-haired, brown-eyed, dark-skinned son? And not only him, but the other children of his skin color who maybe don’t have the shadow of a loved one’s white privilege to protect them? Will their mistakes be given a disproportionate response because of the color of their skin? Will they be shown grace and be allowed redemptive opportunities so they can learn from their mistakes and become strong young men and women who contribute to the community? Or is our culture so lined up against them that they will be running uphill their whole lives, never able to stumble for a moment because our culture will never allow them room to fail?

I do not want to read about another Ahmaud Arbery, George Floyd or Trayvon Martin, where a disproportionate response and unjust punishment was inflicted on a human being simply because of their skin color.

I do not want my son’s story to end like those I have read before.

I want my son to be treated the way Zach was treated — a kid who struggled, but was lifted up by those around him and was given grace and the opportunity to try again. He faced the consequences of his actions, but those consequences were not unjust or unreasonable. He was not required to sacrifice the fun, ornery, and intelligent parts of his personality in order to fit into the society around him. He was given guidance to help him become a man who is now a responsible, contributing member of our society and who loves Jesus with all his heart.

Can we do that for the Jonathans of our world? Can teachers approach them with grace and allow them the freedom to fail and try again? Can police officers treat them as they would a fine, upstanding young white man who made a mistake and needs to learn from a failure? Can we come behind these young men and women, encouraging and lifting them up in prayer, seeing them the way Jesus sees them?

Please, please, please join me in some soul-searching in how we perceive others. Ask God to search our hearts, showing us the hidden prejudices we didn’t know existed. Ask Him to heal our hearts and our culture.

When I became the mother of a bi-racial boy, I had no idea what I was doing. My exposure to and my understanding of systemic racism was minimal at best. Honestly, I still don’t know what I’m doing, but I’m trying to learn. Please, learn with me. Grow with me. The only way our world changes is if we change first.