Each year I find myself looking forward to winter, and much of my joy comes from the aesthetics. It’s an opportunity to experience the scents and sounds that have made my heart swell since childhood. Like most parents, I hope to expose my children to these traditions. Christmas music and cinnamon-scented candles are at the top of my winter wonderland creation to-do list.
But there are plenty of ways that my children’s winter experiences are starkly different from my own. The most significant difference between my bone-chilling Midwest winters of the present and the mild Texas winters I experienced as a child is the snow. It’s early December and we’ve already had snow, with more on the horizon. The local climate means preparing for winter weather with heavier coats and thicker shoes than I needed growing up.
But in the back of my head, it’s hard to balance the joys of winter fashion with the fears of keeping my children—and especially my son—safe. When you’re black and in a cold part of the country, there are things that pose more risk than the cold. A fear of profiling is one of them.
Each year, I become progressively more afraid of the consequences of dressing him in a ski-mask style hat that covers his face. Of course, I’m committed to doing whatever it takes to reduce the number of sick days we have in our house. But I regularly consider the cost.
Am I really saving my children from the cold weather if it comes with the life-threatening expense of being targeted and misperceived? For black parents, it’s never as simple as letting a child pick out what they want to wear for the day and sending them on their way.
These days, the threat is equal parts anxiety-based and realistic. My son is only three years old. You’d have to be an idiot to see his tiny frame as a threat. However, I know that day grows closer with each inch he grows taller and each inch of snow that falls in the winter.
Tamir Rice was a mere 12 years old when he was shot and killed, coincidentally in the wintertime, for playing with a toy gun. He didn’t know those moments that we’ve seen on the camera footage, where the ground is dusted by snow, would be his last.
I haven’t had the heart to watch the full three-minute video. But I’d be willing to bet one of his mother’s last conversations with him involved some version of “Boy, make sure you don’t forget your coat!”
Of course, I’m not suggesting that kids shouldn’t wear their coats in order to save their lives. I’m also not saying that had Tamir Rice been coatless, he would still be here now. Yet for some reason, likely involving my fears of my son being profiled someday, I can’t separate the cold weather from his murder.
For young black children, cold has consequences. I can’t help but think about the chill in the February air that led Trayvon Martin to put on the hoodie that he wore when he lost his life. For me, cold is a trigger to cover up. Black mothers (and definitely grandmothers) across the United States lecture their children on the importance of “bundling up” to avoid “head colds” and “walking pneumonia.” But the real thing we want to protect our children from is the presumption of guilt.
I’d nurse my son through a million colds before I intentionally put him in harm’s way. Of course, I’m fully aware that the lack of winter attire isn’t enough to save the lives of black children. But the anonymity that comes with winter wear seems to stoke white fears—not that it takes much to achieve that feat. Black parents have always had to plan their lives around the fears of white people, because those fears are the only ones that matter in our society.
While a ski mask provides the most coverage from the harsh winter wind, it makes it too hard to see his features, increasing the chance he will be interpreted as a threat. I’m fearful that earmuffs will impair his hearing and lead someone, most terrifyingly a law enforcement official, to think he’s intentionally ignoring their instructions. Hand warmers come with a similar risk; They keep his hands warm at the cost of not being where someone can see them.
There are days I feel like my anxiety has gotten the best of me. It seems ridiculous to have such a risk-obsessed perspective of parenting. But when I think back on the long list of excuses people have offered for the murder of black folks, especially children, I feel that my fears are valid.
I shouldn’t have to choose between my children's health and their physical safety. It’s ridiculous that I have to consider so many “what if” scenarios when selecting the kids’ winter attire.
My stomach aches at the weight of the choices in front of me: keeping my son warm vs. keeping him alive. Still, I know I have to be hypervigilant to ensure my family’s safety.
Black folks are being killed in the streets—and even in their homes—these days. We don’t have time for the risks. When the choice is between a cold and a loss of life, I will pick the cold every single time. But I shouldn’t have to.
A. Rochaun Meadows-Fernandez is a diversity content specialist whose work can be read in The Washington Post, InStyle, The Guardian, and other places. Follow her on Facebook and Twitter.
This post was written through our Daily Kos freelance program.