It often starts with a story.

Your child walks through the door with a certain look on their face. Maybe they’re quiet. Maybe they’re mad. Maybe they blurt it out while grabbing a snack or kicking off their shoes:

“The security guard followed me around the whole store.”
“This white kid touched m

...

I used to believe that my fierce love for my Black twins was enough to inoculate them against racism. But whiteness—my own unexamined assumptions, reflexes, and fears—kept showing up in the quiet moments of parenting.

Late one night, I noticed a tall Black man walking toward me on an empty street. ...