Does “The Talk” Keep Our Sons Safe?

My son is safe. I gave him “The Talk.”

As a Black mother, you might have thought “The Talk” was enough to keep your son safe. Yes, I thought the same. But, after the death of George Floyd… I’m not so sure.

I wonder if George Floyd’s mom had a similar thought while raising him? Did she give him “The Talk?” Did she tell him repeatedly that if you’re stopped by the police don’t provoke, and whatever you do — leave the scene alive?

I gave my sons “The Talk” — those words of wisdom Black mothers give their sons on what to do if stopped by the police: show respect, don’t argue, keep your hands on the steering wheel. Simple instructions, right? Maybe not, if you’re a young, Black man in America.

I raised my three sons in a large urban city — danger lurking on every corner in neighborhoods rife with crime, violence, and drugs. I never had a moment of not worrying about their safety. I worried a lot, always on edge, waiting for their safe return. I now question my false sense of security about giving my sons “The Talk”, as if it were a protective shield against harm, or a get-out-of-jail-free card.

Was George Floyd thinking about “The Talk” his mother gave him when he was younger while he cried out ‘Mama’, clinging to life as the officer’s knee pressed on his neck, choking him to death? Was he thinking of the many times she told him how to keep himself safe if stopped by the police? Surely, she must have drilled in him what to do… most Black mothers do. Lying helplessly on the concrete, not resisting arrest — George Floyd heard his mom loud and clear!

Watching George Floyd beg for his life, I thought of my sons. What would they have thought in that situation? At that moment, would my sons have thought I had tricked them into thinking “The Talk” would keep them safe? Would they have thought I had deceived them into believing “The Talk” was some magical potion to prevent them from becoming a mortality statistic?

Black mothers carry the constant stress and anxiety of raising a Black male in America. We know and understand the racism that prevails and what our sons will face when they become young men. Long before Trayvon Martin’s hood represented fear and intimidation; long before Eric Garner sprawled on the concrete and gasped “I Can’t Breathe”; long before a chalk line traced Michael Brown’s bloody body in Ferguson; long before Tamir Rice lost his life while playing with a toy gun, and long before the recent trail of Black lives lost — we’ve feared for our sons’ safety. Why? Because historical incidents have shown us that being a Black man makes you a target and victim of violence.

Why should Black mothers carry this burden? Why can’t we bring our sons into this world with hope and excitement, raise our sons to enjoy the freedom to embrace opportunities — without prejudice?

Freedom, justice, and equality are the fundamental democratic values I wanted for my sons! What mother wouldn’t want the same?

I knew all too well what was waiting for my sons’ once they became young men: a life of proving they’re not a threat — they needed to know.

I’ve had countless, nail-biting moments of wondering if my sons were safe while they were out with their friends, casually going about their day. Every damn day, I wondered if they would return home unscathed, despite me giving them “The Talk.”

I sighed with relief the moment my sons walked in the door, thankful God had protected them another day. Their safe arrival didn’t mean my fear had ended — it had only ended that day. My belief in God is what carried me through the many moments of feeling afraid. I found more faith in the prayer I silently recited: “O God, protect my sons, return them safely.” Without faith in those prayers, I would have lost all hope in the power of “The Talk.”

Every day my sons left home, fear re-introduced itself, greeting me with its emotional toll: fear, sigh, relief — repeat!

I wonder if George Floyd’s mom felt those emotions too while raising him? At what age did she give him “The Talk?”

My sons got “The Talk” when they were old enough to leave our neighborhood. I knew then I couldn’t protect them for what was potentially waiting for them. I hated having to give my sons “The Talk” — I gave it, anyway. Was it enough? Like a tender kiss or a warm hug, giving my sons “The Talk” was the ultimate act of my love!

I cried each time I gave my sons “The Talk.” They trusted me, I was sending them out into society like lambs going to slaughter.

Don’t provoke. Don’t resist. Don’t talk back. I gave my sons those daily commands.

I gave “The Talk” with stern and clear instructions: “You have four words to remember: Do the right thing.” I wanted them to know they also had the responsibility of being accountable for their actions.

But how do I prepare them for the actions of others? I knew there were other forces they couldn’t control — forces stronger than they — forces more powerful. Too many young, Black men have died at the hands of those trusted to serve and protect — this truth terrified me. But I gave them “The Talk” anyway.

I wonder if George Floyd’s mom had those same thoughts.

If you’re raising a Black male in America, you give “The Talk” — it’s an initiation, a rite of passage, an unspoken practice that must take place before sending your son out into society — that’s the belief you uphold in preparing your son for manhood.

Without hesitation, Black mothers like me give “The Talk”, and I’d like to believe that during his lifetime, George Floyd’s mother gave him “The Talk” too.

Except for this time, “The Talk” wasn’t good enough!