My Black Grandson

Something about the mom pulling her adult son out of the riots in Baltimore, resonated deeply with me. 

I tried to imagine myself in her shoes. 

Scenario 1:

One of my boys as an adult, going to a sporting event and his team wins or loses. And he gets sucked into the after celebration as the stadium empties.  And a riot starts.  If I could, I would go and find him.  I would be pulling him away by the ear, with a look on my face of 'Are you kidding me'?

Scenario 2:

Chloe gets married and has kids.  No matter who she marries, her kids will be dark.  And I hope she has at least one son.  Say, he grows up, and goes to a big school in a big city.  And something bad happens nearby. And he gets pulled, pushed, or willingly follows a mob of people who are protesting.  And it gets bad, real bad.

You can bet that Chloe, her husband, and I will be on the streets looking for him.  Desperate to find him before he gets hurt.  Imagine me, as a grandma, in a riot, looking for Chloe's son. 

With my white son, I'm not afraid for his safety.

With my black grandson, I am terrified for his safety and his life.  

Scenario 3 and 4:
My white son joins in a protest for minorities.  Still not afraid for him.

My black grandson joins in a party after a big game that turns into vandalism.  Very afraid for him.

Should I be more worried for my white son?
Should I be less worried for my black grandson? 

It's just how I feel, way down deep.  And it resonates with me.