Alton Sterling's death forever changed the way I will raise my white sons

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I am a white mother.

I spend most of my time trying to tame my wild, white sons. Teaching them right from wrong, explaining with embarrassment why it’s not okay to yell whatever it is that they’re yelling (usually: “TESTICLES!”), and reminding them to hold the door open for others.

We live in the Deep South. I want my wild, white sons to be well-behaved.

My wild, white sons are loud. They’re obnoxious. They’re rude and they spit and they scream and wrestle when we’re out in public. Most of the time, I wonder how I ended up with two wild boys and then I wonder how the hell I’m going to shape them into two grown men.

It’s exhausting, being a mother. Mothering my boys, in particular, has aged me considerably.

We live in Baton Rouge, Louisiana, where a man was shot to death on Tuesday only a few miles from our home — the home where my wild, white children run half-naked through the front yard with the water hose.

Alton Sterling died for reasons I don’t understand.

I didn’t know Alton Sterling. A very long line of black men have been killed, unjustly, and until now, I’ve never talked to my sons about it — mostly because I’m not even sure what to say. How can I begin to explain it to my children? What do I say?

Sometimes people die because they are black.

I choke on the words because they are so vile.

None of it makes sense. I’m uncomfortable. I want to pretend it’s not happening, and for these reasons, I’ve remained silent. But I won’t remain silent anymore.

While none of us can fix the issue of social injustice on our own, I believe it is our responsibility to think about what we can do within our own sphere of influence. I am a mother; my sons and my daughter are within my sphere of influence. We never talk about race in our house, other than to say that all people, regardless of color, are the same.

But we aren’t the same.

So I’ve stopped saying that.

Today, I told them the truth. I told them that their whiteness brings privilege and with privilege comes responsibility, and all this time I’ve said that people are all the same, I’ve been lying.

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