How does a White father from the United States, raising his Black son in China talk about the news this week?

That’s not rhetorical.

It’s not hypothetical?

I’m asking. Because I don’t know.

What I do know is that I’m not the only parent this week scrambling for the right answers with a frantic sense of panic and a haunting awareness that I CANNOT GET THIS WRONG.

It’s like I can physically see his heart forming right in front of my eyes and how I respond in this moment sets the trajectory for our futures. For me, that points to how I will someday feel about how I handled my responsibility as a parent.

For him, it could go much deeper.

So much deeper.

Wrong is not an option.

But I’ve got other options. Loads of them. Probably more than you.

I could ignore this. “We’re over here. That’s over there.”

I could gloss over it. “This has happened before. It’ll blow over.”

I could globalize it. “Every country has its issues. We don’t own the narrative on racism, abuse of power, or rioting in the streets.”

I could dilute it. “Look at all of the good things that are still going on in the world.”

I could deflect and deny. “That’s bad but . . .”

I could appease myself. “Hey son, let’s learn about Martin Luther King Jr.”

Then I could pat myself on the back and brag about it on Facebook.

Those are viable options and I’ve employed them all in the past. But there is a tipping point.

So I talked to my son.

As I shared the story of George Floyd I was second-guessing every word that came out of my mouth. I didn’t want to sugarcoat it or dismiss the gravity of it but I also didn’t want to transfer my bias into his brain. I was going for the “teachable moment” but I felt pathetically ill-equipped.

Spoiler alert. I got turned upside-down.

I watched him make his “wheels turning” face. I’ve seen it before. The connections between his brain and his heart overload which produce a moment of silent reflection.

Eventually, he spoke. “That’s horrible.”

I agreed and we chatted for a bit. He processed his hurt for George Floyd, his family, and all of the people who were angry. The anger made sense to him but then he threw me for a loop. He expressed his pain for Derek Chauvin, the police officer.

“Everybody must hate him.”

It wasn’t just an observation. He could feel it.

Every single parental synapse in my brain was firing at once. WHAT DO I DO WITH THIS? Crush his empathy? Deny his unbelievably insightful thought process? Harden his heart? Teach him about, “you can’t say that out loud”? Or encourage him and set him up for the future backlash?

I felt like I was spinning too many plates and they were all about to come crashing down.

He changed the subject — started talking about video games. It wasn’t a defense mechanism, he just says what’s in his mind — whatever that is. That has happened before too. I gave him the sex talk last summer and when I got to that part about “any questions?” he said, “yeah, how did saber tooth tigers not bite their own lips?”

I’ve learned to let him go where he goes and not force the issue.

After a few minutes, he said, “sometimes I just feel like nobody likes me.”

Ok, this one I can handle. Don’t convince him. Don’t minimize. Just listen and connect.

“I hear you buddy. Sometimes I feel like that too.”

“Yeah,” he said,

“But you’re not Black.”

Wow.

That hit.

Hard.

It was like being knocked by a reality wrecking ball into an ocean of clarity and it was the first moment in this conversation where I understood completely what my role was and what my strategy should be.

I AM NOT THE TEACHER HERE.

I’m the learner.

My son, who is ten years old, and biologically only 50% black, and only has two minutes worth of the story, and a fraction of the background, and is growing up with white parents and an Asian sister on the other side of the planet from where this is happening CAN CONNECT INSTANTLY in a way that I will NEVER be able to.

It is time for me to shut up — to stop pretending like I know something that I can’t possibly comprehend. I need to stop trying to cultivate his emotions and let him feel how he feels.

The anger.

The grief.

The empathy.

All of it.

It is not my role as his White parent to teach him what it feels like to be Black.

I need to listen.

It was a life lesson that seems relevant on a MUCH broader scale.

The “yeah but” formula

Days later I’m exhausted as I watch the memes roll through where people like me disclaim their hollow sympathy instantly with twisted statistics and words like, “however” and, “yeah but what about” and “oh yeah well one time I”.

It’s a language I am trained in and speak fluently. Acknowledge the point and then crush them with a true but missing-the-point-counterpoint. Say their thing first and then completely ignore it.

“It’s terrible that George Floyd was killed BUT that doesn’t make looting and violence justifiable.”

“It’s sad that he died BUT he was high and had a record.”

“The policeman was wrong BUT most police are good.”

“I understand being upset BUT you don’t see us protesting when White people get killed.”

“Of course Black lives matter BUT all lives matter.”

“Racism is horrible BUT I have Black friends.”

It’s a simple formula for learning nothing, never growing, never changing and never getting to the core of our own darkness. It amounts to defending our ignorance so we can convince people that we’re not when we should be confessing our ignorance so we can understand more.

The “yeah but” formula is strategically designed to diminish, distract and dismiss

Can I just confess here? I am ignorant.

I DON’T KNOW.

Not because I am stupid. I’m not.

And not because I don’t have information. I do.

In fact, if you compare me to my son I have more information, more backstory, more education, more understanding, more experience, and more capacity to process complex thoughts.

And yet when I asked for his permission to write this post he said,

“Yeah, of course, but dad, you can teach me about Black history, and you can teach me about White history,

but you can’t teach me how it feels to be Black.”

I have so much to learn from him.

I want to flip my own script. I mean in real life not just on a blog post. I want to open myself up to hear. To listen. To learn.

In the context of what is happening right now, and in an answer to “how am I supposed to raise my son,” it feels really important for me to make two clear resolutions:

To speak up.

I am AGAINST racism. Period.

To be clear, no one I know would ever say they are FOR racism, but there is a massive gap between not being for something and being against it.

And yet because of my skin, my heritage, my life-long political affiliations, my demographics, my culture AND because of things I have believed and even said in the past . . . if I choose NOT to plainly and unequivocally state that I am against racism without ANY disclaimers, it would be reasonable for anyone who knows me to assume that I land on a different side of this thing.

Maybe your side?

To let you think that you have an ally when you don’t is not fair to anyone.

If your visceral gut response to that is “I’m against racism too!! BUT . . .”

Then I’m not being clear yet.

No more “buts”.

Our disclaimers send a VERY clear message: WE ARE NOT LISTENING. And if we are “yeah butting”, we are NOT AGAINST racism. We are simply not for it. At least we would never admit it.

So if that’s you, and you have the courage to say “I might be wrong” then I would invite you to join me in my second resolution:

To shut up

Dear Black and Brown people,

I WILL NOT diminish your suffering by instantly adding disclaimers.

I WILL NOT distract from your grief by instantly pointing to others who are grieving as well.

I WILL NOT dismiss your anger. You’ve earned that.

I AM NOT THE TEACHER HERE. I am the learner.

This is NOT MY MOMENT to enlighten you.

This is NOT MY MOMENT to judge your emotions.

This is NOT MY MOMENT to make my voice louder than yours.

This is NOT MY MOMENT to pretend I know how you feel.

You don’t owe me anything. It’s not your job to educate me. I’m asking as humbly as I can . . . because I don’t know. How does a White father raising his Black son talk about the news this week?

I WILL NOT tell you how it feels to be Black. I can’t — but I will listen to my son.

And I will listen to you.

One last thing

If you’re reading this and it still squeezes your “yeah but” trigger — trust me, I get it. That’s where I’ve lived my life. Are there other truths and hard realities that can’t and shouldn’t be ignored?

Yeah, there are

BUT

You’re not Black.

I’m ready to listen.