Kimberly Stimmel is a new addition to the Cuyahoga Falls community and the author of the 2 Legs to 2 Wheels blog. Of the blog, she says “I started my blog to have a platform to speak on issues that were important to me. As a disabled, bi-sexual mother of a bi-racial child, I’ve experienced multiple forms of prejudice throughout my life and dedicated my voice to advocating for invisible illnesses, domestic violence awareness, the LBGT community, and racial prejudice issues where and whenever I am able to. I firmly believe that no one is too small to make a difference and kindness means everything. If sharing my experiences can help even one person break down a barrier and be kinder, then it’s completely worth it.” Stimmel’s son lives out of state and has been a victim of racism, and she addresses that here in light of the heightened awareness of racism in the US following the tragic death of George Floyd in Minneapolis, among others elsewhere. This submission is a reprint from her blog with permission from the author.
Monday was June 1st, and while this ordinarily marks the beginning of a month-long celebration full of rainbows, glitter, and shenanigans better known as Pride, I found myself struggling to celebrate anything in the current climate—just as I struggle to find the right words to type.
The death of George Floyd—while completely tragic and utterly disgusting—is nothing new. Systematic racism in this country is a story as old as time, and while we continue to evolve in just about every other arena, sadly this is one area where we struggle to better ourselves. Sure, our kids can ride the bus together (thanks, Rosa) and sit in the same classroom at school (Brown v. Board of Ed.), but children of color still face radical hardships.
My son is 13 years of age and half Caucasian, half African-American. He lives in the epitome of suburbia, a place that until about 20 years ago was primarily back country roads and small farms—the furthest place from an inner city you can possibly imagine. Yet, every day he goes to school and is bullied, physically abused, and showered with racial slurs. At 13, I have had to explain to him, on countless occasions, why it is not only inappropriate, but disgusting that these children speak to him that way. That the color of his skin is something to be proud of, not something he should be abused over. I’ve had to teach him that fighting is unacceptable, unless it is in self-defense. And, sadly, that when his white principal takes the side of a white classmate over him, it isn’t his fault, and I believe him no matter what.
We’ve also had to talk about what to do if he ever gets asked questions by a police officer, otherwise known as “The Talk.” How, despite whatever he was or was not doing, he needs to keep his hands clear and where the police officer can see them. Yes ma’am/sir and direct responses without any trace of sass are the only acceptable responses, no matter how frustrated he gets. Again, he’s 13.
When he was small—too small to remember—I recall walking with him in the stroller and being given “the eye” because I was a white woman with a brown baby. More than once, I’ve had someone refer to him as my “ni*ger child.”
I don’t condemn the riots that are happening across the United States, although I do understand why they are taking place. No one listened when we sat for the National Anthem, took a knee, or marched peacefully; outrage and violence would be the next logical step. However, violence only begets more violence. I don’t know what the answer is to this problem that’s as old as time, I just know that I’m sad. Sad, tired, disgusted, and scared. I’m scared for my son to grow up in a world where he could be hurt just because his pigmentation is a little darker. Sad that at 13 years old he has to learn that the police aren’t always there to protect him. And sad that this is the world we live in; a world where peaceful protesting is a waste of time and we’re burning shit to the ground to get people to pay attention to us.
So please…while you may not have had any first-hand experience with racism or may think that this is all an overreaction and a waste of time, remember this story. If you’re reading this, I was likely your classmate, I’m your friend, and more than likely a fellow white person of privilege. Because like it or not, if you were born white, you were born privileged. I don’t know about you, but I sure as hell don’t remember my parents ever giving me “The Talk” as a child.
Be Kind. Listen More. And try to understand why folks are so angry. You don’t have to live through something to be compassionate…
