Be gentle with them.

I think when it comes to kids, I’ve always hoped they’d be protected, if not by the system, than by us.
That’s the mistake most of us make.

When I think of the Black and white areas, I wouldn’t imagine kids falling into the gray.
Unfortunately, what I’ve learned through this experience is that it’s all gray when it comes to them.

Their voices are not often heard. Their cries are too often ignored. And worse they’re not just unheard, they’re unseen.

Children of color are disproportionately pushed into the foster care system, and they stay there longer than their white counterparts.
It’s not just systemic inequality poverty plays a big role, too.

And the more I spend time with them, the more I realize many of these kids aren’t that different from me.
The slight difference is I got lucky. Maybe they will too.
And if not, I’ll be here, every step of the way.

I think of the most handsome little boy cinnamon skin, round face and how his eyes filled with pain.
One of them so bright, filled with google facts. She didn’t even realize she was considered Brown.
I laughed at first, then I caught myself.
Not every child is equipped the same way. I took pride as a child knowing exactly where I came from.

I’ve been in a tug of war with the idea that being raised in the hood isn’t necessarily bad for our kids.
But learning more and more each day that poverty plays a direct role in our children being displaced sent me into a spiral.

This is part of what I’ve learned through some research and experience… when speaking of Child Protective Services, poverty, and race don’t impact families the same way. Not everyone knows this.

I looked at different sources, and what stood out was that
for yt families, being poor increased their chances of CPS contact but having more money actually protected them.
Money gave them a layer of safety.

But for Black families, even with higher income, that same protection wasn’t there.
Money didn’t shield them.

Instead, Black families were more likely to be impacted by the racialized experience of poverty things like poor health, mental stress, and constant surveillance from systems built on bias. Constant surveillance means more policing, less privileges our schools built like prisons.

It reminded me that poverty isn’t experienced the same by everyone.

For Black families, it’s not just about income it’s about how race and poverty overlap, and how CPS becomes another form of control, not support.

This is deeper than numbers.
It’s about how we’re seen.
How we’re treated. And how much work we still have to do to make these systems fair.

So to me, protecting our children doesn’t change based on whether I’m still in the hood or not.
It has to be done in a communal way. These are our children.

Mentorship is beyond the programs, beyond the schoolyard it’s a commitment.
To educate, to uplift, and to stay present.

Sometimes the wrong path looks like the easiest one. You make friends. You feel seen.
You start filling voids that couldn’t be filled at home for whatever reason.

I’m no expert in parenting, but I might’ve earned a PhD in raising other people’s kids. I still recall the agonizing pain of getting that stripped away, having to cut ties because the parents were toxic and there was no way I could get the system involved.

The reality of putting my feelings to the side and realizing she will always yearn for this love from her mom. I joined forces, I attempted to help in anyway possible until it became impossible.

Parenting isn’t easy.
And culturally, I can admit a lot needs to change.
But we also have to understand these behaviors were learned.
Learned over generations of survival, of oppression and I know it’s just not that simple.

In my own family, we’ve seen drug addiction, incarceration, mental health struggles and even now, we’re still trying to heal.

It all ties back to lack of opportunity.
To the neglect in the healthcare system.
To racial bias.
To a setup that was never made for us to win.

We were set up to fail.
And yet, here we are still thriving. Still showing up.
Still doing our best.

When babies are raising babies, let’s help raise them too.

A huge part of where we’re failing children is by not supporting their parents.
And yes, I know not everyone is open to help but it’s worth trying.
It’s some food for thought. Let’s begin by checking in.

When I learned about the death of the 14 year old in the Bronx, my heart sank.
There was a time we honored our kids, our women, our elders.
It’s up to us to restore that in one another.

I read the comments..
“What was he doing in the park?”
“He must’ve been up to no good.”
Bitch, what if he was just FOURTEEN and at the park?

Rest in peace to that young man.
My deepest condolences to his family.

In order to recreate and restore we have to start with them. That means putting our egos to the side and genuinely pouring into one another.

When I think of the childhood I had it wasn’t all colored roses but I promise it wasn’t this shit.

One of my biggest pet peeves is hearing:
“Well, I was raised this way, and I turned out fine.”

No, ma’am. No, sir you didn’t.
And your parents didn’t have the tools that you do now.
We owe it to them and ourselves to break the cycle.

Not saying your folks didn’t do their best.
But we can do better. I’m gentle with them.