Since the shooting and killing of Michael Brown in Ferguson by a police officer and other tragic incidents between African Americans and police in face-to-face encounters and the subsequent protests, a national dialogue on race relations has begun once again.
Yesterday I realized something. Something big. It's this: if I want change to happen, it has to start here. I'm a mother of three kids, 10, 9, and 7 years old, and if I want change to happen, it must. Start. Here. With me. With my family.
Love may not raise test scores. But I think it creates the kind of safety net that helps people develop the kind of resilience and skills and motivation they need to fight through whatever lack of privilege they may have been born into.
No matter how you identify yourself or where you happen to find yourself on the spectrum of power and privilege, think about one thing you can do or say or ask today that can make someone feel a little bit less alone, and a little bit more at home.
It's not hard to sympathize with parents' hopes to save a future child from racial taunts or confused identity. And yet it is troubling for donor services to accentuate race in ways that invite parents to exclude wholesale from their consideration all donors of a particular race.
In our daily interactions with news and pop culture as well as anti-racist movements and protests, Black men become the representation of violence in America. However, Black women seem to fade into the background, as do the women who have raised them, cared for them, and loved them.
Whether it's 17-year-old Trayvon Martin in 2012, or 14-year-old Emmett Till in 1955, racial prejudice still informs access to adequate education, employment opportunities and advancement, well beyond the streets of Ferguson, Missouri.