First, I want you to know that this post will likely make you uncomfortable. I know this, because I’ve been saying parts of it out loud in my every day life for a few years now. But first, before anyone gets defensive, my husband and I are also white parents. Our son, however, is black. He is the most beautiful boy I’ve ever laid eyes on. He’s full of life, bouncing with energy, delightfully exuberant.

I already feel sad because I know the day is coming when he will realize that this world isn’t fair. He’ll soon begin to understand that not all families are recognized by the staff of every store they frequent. He’ll notice that people ask us questions that aren’t quite appropriate, and can be offensive. And sometime soon, another child will ask him why he doesn’t look like his mom and dad.

More than all of those realizations though, I worry for the day when he becomes an adult black man. You see, I have no first hand experience to guide him with. I don’t know how to survive as a black person in this world. I don’t know those struggles. I’ve always been white. I’ve always known the history of black people, but I’ve never lived it.

Someday soon, my husband and I will have to explain to him that he can’t do certain things that we could have when we were teens. We’ll have to explain to him that there are people out there expecting him to fail and he’ll have to work twice as hard to change opinions.

What we’re just beginning to understand is that our whiteness is protecting him. Right now, he’s the cutest little boy any of our friends have seen. He’s a doll, his smile lights up a room, his attitude is adorable. But when he’s older, and we aren’t around, he’ll be a black man. Will his attitude be adorable?

For anyone who looks at us and thinks we’ve done a selfless thing by adopting our son, I want you to know how wrong that idea is. Becoming parents is one of the most selfish things that we’ve done. We adopted him because we wanted a family. We didn’t need one. We wanted one. We didn’t save him. If anything, we borrowed new problems for him. But this is where we are now, and we still wouldn’t change that. The three of us are a family that doesn’t match. We live in this world where skin color matters to some people more than anything. And we don’t know how to fix it.

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But, most importantly, I want you to see us and know that this world can be unfair. But we are parents, just like you. We want the best for our son, just like you. We love him, and will do anything for him. Just like you.

Please talk to your children about racial differences. Please teach them about the suffering of others. Take them to a museum, read them a book, expose them to different cultures. Be active.

Please accept that there are things that you can’t understand. People different than you struggle in ways you can’t know.

Think about when you didn’t have children, and other seasoned parents would say, “You can’t understand what it’s like until you’re a parent.” If you’re like me, that statement was infuriating. Because for the longest time, being a parent was the only thing I really wanted. I wanted to understand. I wanted to know what this thing was that I didn’t know. I was so furious that all of these people thought they were so much smarter than me because they could understand what it was like.

That is what it’s like for white people. We can’t understand things without experiencing them. The first step is by reading what I’ve written and believing that I’m not exaggerating. I’m not asking this for just my son. I’m asking this for your children as well. For their future world. The one where they’ll be parents.

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