When my son was about 4 and my daughter was about 6 we watched the movie Sausage Party. It was completely inappropriate but they were distracted with coloring. I was tired of Elmo so I let it play.
My daughter called the movie stupid when it was over, then grabbed the remote to see what Ladybug and Cat Noir were up to. My son tucked under me on the sofa and whispered. “Mommy, the people are the monsters.”
I think about that moment all the time. I used to worry that I fucked him up by letting him see that movie. I now see that movie as a serendipitous primer to the current state of affairs. Our children are being deaded in the company of friends who don’t look like them. Southern trees bear strange fruit again, without spectacle.
When my kids leave the house I incant prayer-like warnings hoping to better the odds of them coming home again.
You can’t tell just by looking at them. There’s a famous Muhammad Ali quote about not being able to tell which snakes want to bite you and which snakes don’t because they all look like snakes. Does it really matter what kind.
Never be the only one. Each playdate needs a diversity ratio that lessens the chance of you ending up dead in a quarry or on a boat. Someone who doesn’t look exactly like you but is routinely othered may be more likely to intervene or get out of dodge with you if it turns dark.
Don’t think you are too cute. If a stranger’s eyes meet your own in the bath and bedding aisle, do not make small talk. Don’t take anything they hand you. When leaving, head straight to the car. Lock the doors. Spin the block a few times before heading home. It’s possible they just liked your cute cropped top. We don’t really need to know. When we go missing we are seldom found.
Never go to a second location. If someone claiming to be law enforcement asks you to go to another location without an adult present, run fast, away from trees, toward a crowd. Find an adult that looks like family and ask for help. If it’s truly a police matter our lawyer will handle it later.
Hold still your rage. The word may float by your ear buoyed by the noise of a lunchroom or be in your face as an audacious declaration. In every case, resist the correct instinct to beat them with a folding chair. No sense being the kindling for a race war or delayed domestic terror attack. We’ll just keep stacking the HIB incident reports and lengthening the paper trail of evidence.
Tell everyone all the time how much you love life. Post optimistic poems and dancing TikToks. Make plans with friends each day. So if the worst should happen, I want no time wasted by people who would argue that you killed yourself.
—Filed from my mobile in between following my kids on Life360