The weight of love is immense and heavy. We are most reminded of this when those we love are at risk of harm or we are at risk of losing them. With gun violence rampant in this country and threatening our children daily—in schools, at grocery stores, at parties, in homes—that weight feels unbearable and exhausting.
The death of loved ones is familiar territory for me. So when my son was born, nightmares of losing him followed almost immediately. Vivid dreams of losing him in crowded places, devastating fires in our home, car crashes, and bizarre accidents I couldn’t even recall when I bolted awake. What I could recall was that in each of them, I had no control over the situation or I wasn’t with him. I know so many parents and caregivers who also feel this lack of control… and not just in their dreams. Clinging to your child’s tiny body in a tight embrace, afraid to let go at the door of their classroom. When your teen’s high school alerts you of another active shooter drill. Or worse, of a potential threat. Knowing that they’ll be walking to band practice like they do every day… but will today be different? We worry about our children constantly, especially when they are not with us. My own fears are often fueled by the question, if my son is not with me, how can I keep him safe? Spaces in our community that are designed to be and should be safe, like schools, no longer feel so. And the rhetoric of, “What’s the likelihood of it happening to you?” is rapidly losing its potency for calming our (valid) nerves.
One day last year at daycare pickup, my son was surprised to see that my car was parked in a different spot than when I dropped him off that morning. I believe it was the first time he noticed and realized that his mama had not been waiting for him outside the building while he was enjoying his day with his class. That his mama must leave and if so, where does she go? I told him that I work on my laptop from home or at the library and that sometimes I go to a meeting with a client somewhere else, like the coffee shop with those blueberry muffins he likes. I assured him that every day I’m so excited to come back to pick him up. I didn’t tell him that I spend most days with worry buried in every crevice of my brain. Our conversation reminded me of Margaret Hass’ poem, “First Day of Kindergarten.” There are days when I have a hard time driving away from his school’s parking lot, my hands tense and gripping the steering wheel. If the worst thing imaginable did happen, I am plagued by the fear that I won’t be there to hold him close to my body. To look into his eyes and tell him that he is loved and that I will never leave his side, no matter what comes. To tell him that a life without him is not worth living (recommended reading: Kate Baer’s poem “Back to School Shopping”).
For many parents, these fears and worries are aggravated and compounded. Black and brown children cannot do even the simplest daily activities—like picking up their siblings or attending a birthday party—without the threat of violence. Black boys especially are treated as adults and as a potential threat from a very young age. Not as the children that they are and have a right to be. Even in the womb, their parents are denied the same quality of care and respect that white birthing people and infants receive. This systemic racism results in higher maternal and infant mortality rates for Black birthing people and babies. NBEC is only one of many resources for learning more about this and why Reproductive Justice (introduced by Black women) is so important.
Since the start of the year, 400+ anti-LGBTQ+ bills have been introduced. Many of these target transgender youth directly with legislation that restricts or denies their access to health care, human rights, and safety. So often, when an identity like transgender or Black is before the word “child”… then they are no longer treated or cared for as children. The innocence of youth and childhood is denied to them. In a recent SNL episode, Molly Kearny (the first nonbinary cast member) called out the hypocrisy of anti-trans legislation and sentiments, “If you don’t care about trans kids’ lives, it means you don’t care about freakin’ kids’ lives.” She goes on to speak directly to trans kids through the screen and assures them that their job is to simply be kids… and that our job as adults, is to care for them.
Nothing will change if we continue to take action in ebbs and flows, participating in bursts of “awareness” and news cycles. It is our collective responsibility as adults—whether you’re a parent or not—to DEMAND their right to safety in all environments, to health care, to affirm their identity, and to foster equitable access to resources like quality education and child care. It is also our responsibility to raise our own children to not just be kind but to respect and care for each other. All kids have a right to a childhood. This is our responsibility.