Two and a half years ago, when my husband Josiah and I started our family, I believed our biggest challenges would be the typical ones—adjusting to married life, managing finances, and dealing with the small quirks that come with sharing your life with another person. But life had other plans. What we didn’t anticipate were the unexpected realities tied to race and the way our family was perceived by the world.
It became evident not long after our son, Micah, was born. At first, I didn’t see it—the subtle, and sometimes not-so-subtle, ways society would treat Josiah and now our child. I was wrapped up in love and new parenthood, focused on celebrating our family, and yet, the world had other expectations.
The Moments That Opened My Eyes
It wasn’t long before these subtle challenges began to show themselves. One day, Josiah was pulled over for expired tags. It seemed like a simple, routine traffic stop, but before I could even reach for my purse to get the insurance papers, the officer’s tone shifted. Suddenly, Josiah was out of the car, face down, handcuffed. I stood there, shaking, screaming that it was a mistake, that he was a good man—my husband.
Then there was the time at the park when a woman called security because she thought Josiah was trying to take our child. It was a moment that hit me deeply. She looked at me with relief, almost as if I’d saved our son from a stranger. I could see it—the invisible line that the world had drawn between Josiah and me, between the two of us and our child.
And the comments, those little jabs that hurt more than they should. “You’re such a good person for adopting him.” “He must get his smarts from his mama.” “She could have done better.” These comments were small, but they stuck with me. They made me realize how unprepared I was to face the world my husband had been living in his entire life, the world our sons would have to navigate too.
The Unexpected Struggles of Parenting
As our son, Micah, started kindergarten, the subtle pain became real. One day, I received a call from his teacher, Ms. Brand. She told me that Micah had been in tears because some older kids were making fun of his hair. They said it was “weird” and “different.” My heart broke. Micah was only five, and already he was being made to feel “other.”
When I spoke with Josiah about it, his response wasn’t surprise, but resignation. He had lived through this kind of subtle rejection his entire life, and while it hurt him to see our son experience it, he knew how to cope. He had built a thick skin. But I wasn’t ready for it. I wanted to protect Micah, to shield him from the hurt, but I also knew that wasn’t realistic. We had to stand by him and show him how to face the world with pride.
I arranged a visit to a local barber, Mr. Calvin, who specialized in cutting curly hair. It was a small thing, but it made a world of difference for Micah. When he saw other boys with hair like his, styled with pride, he beamed. Sometimes, it’s the little things—seeing a reflection of yourself in the world—that can make all the difference.
A World That Requires Education and Patience
As the months went on, Josiah and I found ourselves constantly educating the people around us. Whether it was explaining why Micah needed different hair products or guiding his teacher on how to respond to ignorant comments, we became unofficial ambassadors for empathy and understanding.
At a family baby shower, I was confronted by a question from Aunt Barbara that stuck with me: “How do you handle raising a child who looks so different from you?” It wasn’t said with malice, but with ignorance that I couldn’t ignore. I had to respond—graciously but firmly—that it wasn’t about “handling” anything, it was about embracing who our child was. We shared the same love, the same heart, and that’s what mattered.
These conversations were exhausting at times, but they were also necessary. They planted seeds of understanding, and as Josiah reminded me, “With you and Micah by my side, I feel stronger. It’s not just me fighting back; it’s us.” These moments of unity and support reminded me that while love may not shield us from the world’s challenges, it is the foundation of our strength as a family.
The Hardest Lesson: Love Is Not Enough
There came a point when Micah, in a moment of vulnerability, climbed into our bed and whispered, “Dad, I’m scared… scared you’ll get hurt again like when that policeman was mean to you.” My heart sank. The reality of what Josiah had endured—what our son had internalized—was too real.
In that moment, Josiah reassured him, as best as he could: “I can’t promise bad things will never happen, but I can promise we’ll face them together. You, me, and Mama.” It was a small but powerful promise, one that I had to embrace as well.
Looking back, I realize now that I was never fully prepared for this. I wasn’t prepared for the emotional toll of seeing my family treated differently or the pain of watching my son try to understand a world that didn’t always see him as I did. But I learned—sometimes painfully—that being prepared isn’t about having all the answers. It’s about being willing to face the challenges, to rise up and stand strong, together.
Embracing Love as an Active Choice
Our journey hasn’t been easy, and it’s far from over. But it has made me realize that love is not just a feeling—it’s an action. It’s a verb. Love is not enough on its own. It requires us to fight for each other, to stand up for one another, and to protect the ones we love in a world that doesn’t always value them as much as we do.
Real love is active. It’s about waking up each day, choosing to defend your family’s peace, their safety, and their worth. Love means showing up in the face of ignorance, standing firm in the face of prejudice, and being patient with each other as we navigate a world that doesn’t always understand us.
I’ve come to see that while love might not be enough to overcome every obstacle, it’s the spark that keeps us going. And sometimes, that’s all we need to keep fighting.
If our story resonates with you or someone you know, I encourage you to share it. Our small actions—our understanding and compassion—can create ripples of change. And that, I believe, is a step forward for all of us.
