AUTHOR: M. DATE: 8:24:00 PM ----- BODY:

Tonight, in my rush to get home from work, I was pulled over for speeding. Okay, okay, I was over the speed limit, but damnit! It's the last week of the month and I was going 30 mph in a 20 mph zone. As he walked to my car I decided that I wasn't raised in the South for nothing, and I would use a little of that Southern charm (to my real-life friends who are snorting with laughter right now: I do have it! I do! And no, you will never see it unless you're wearing a stupid hat and gun on your belt). So I immediately apologized, told him I was rushing because it had been a long day "but I never do this," thanked him when he told me one of my headlights was out and told him I would be at the mechanic in the morning, etc. Then he asks me for my registration... which I don't have. Why? Where else would it be? And to add insult to injury, I knew it wasn't there - because I. was stopped for speeding a month or so ago when she was in my car and couldn't find my registration then. Dumbass - I could have dealt with it between October and now. But anyway. So he goes off with my license and the crumpled-up Valvoline receipt that I gave him to in hopes that he would assume that, since I had gotten the oil changed, I hadn't stolen it (hint: it's not necessarily helpful to offer a Valvoline receipt to a cop), and I sweat it out, thinking of all the times I got on Isadora's case about getting pulled over for speeding. Then he comes back, tosses my license and a written warning in my lap, and says "don't do it again." That's it. What can I say? The cop was white, and I'm white, and we were in an almost-entirely African-American neighborhood. It helped that I have a good driving record, but let's be real here. I. met a woman this summer who was talking about raising her Black teenage son. This woman talked a lot about what it meant to see her son grow up and to realize that he had become a Black Man, as in white-people-crossing-the-street-at-night-when-they-see-him-coming. Or, in this case, as in white-cop-giving-him-a-ticket-or-worse. As a white parent of a child of color (probably an African-American child), how do you find a balance between instilling in your child a sense of pride while also preparing them to get a ticket, a search, a bad break because of the same qualities you've taught them to be proud of?

-------- COMMENT-AUTHOR: Anonymous COMMENT-DATE:9:17 AM COMMENT-BODY:I would just like to point out that I got pulled over for speeding in August not October, Marisa had almost 4 months to deal with it!! -------- COMMENT-AUTHOR: M. COMMENT-DATE:9:49 AM COMMENT-BODY:Ahem... aren't you sneaky, Ms. Anonymous. No one will ever know who posted this message (busting on yer wife). -------- COMMENT-AUTHOR: Foxxy One COMMENT-DATE:5:05 PM COMMENT-BODY:Hopefully, by the time your child is of that age, this will no longer be an issue. Of course, I could be naive but I'd like to think of myself as hopeful :) -------- COMMENT-AUTHOR: FemiKnitMafia COMMENT-DATE:3:53 PM COMMENT-BODY:1. I have all the hope in the world that you will find a way. Of all people I know, YOU will find a way.
2. In case you have a biracial child, check this out:
Swirl Syndicate --------