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How Should a White Dad Talk to his Mixed-race Kids about the N-word?
At a high-school athletic event near our home, a mixed-race basketball player heard opposing fans use the N-word aimed at her.
My kids are half Black. I am 100% WASP. We talk openly about almost everything, from sex to faith; relationships to mental health.
But we don’t talk about the N-word. It feels almost completely out of bounds.
So out of bounds that, not only do we never talk about it, but I rarely think about it.
The incident at the basketball game changed that for me. It made the local news and triggered a school district investigation. I wondered why. Each week, there are hundreds of athletic and other extra-curricular events in our community. Maybe thousands. Lots of ignorant, impulsive, stupid, and even hateful things get tossed around nightly. Why was this newsworthy?
A few days later I read a LinkedIn post by a Black man describing his experience calling out some kids who used the N-word at a soccer game. In an effort to better understand his perspective and ask for some advice, I reached out to him.
In an effort to be a better dad, I’ve reflected on the experience and have identified four principles that have helped me.
I wanted to know if they ever use the N-word, and how often they hear it. My immediate goal was to calibrate my own discomfort with the word and better understand the source of that discomfort. It just got me thinking. And it got us talking.
Talking about the N-word, for me, was extremely uncomfortable. When we made it the subject of a conversation, it became something that threatened to divide me from my children. It’s like an oily rag, anyone who touches it gets stained. The older ones have a sense of the ugliness it carries, and in our case, it was obvious that it means something different to them than it does to me.
My conversation with the Black CEO from LinkedIn helped me develop a framework for thinking and talking about it more.
He didn’t mention the race of the kids who used the word. I didn’t ask.
As a white person in America, do I have any right to judge the severity of the offense based on the color of the trangressor’s skin? Would it have been better or worse one way or the other? I didn’t even want to find out if it changed my thinking, so I didn’t explore.
But I did wonder, what would I have done in his situation? Would I have been less offended because I am white? Or only slightly less offended because my kids are half Black?
Would I have summoned the authority to confront anyone who used that word in public, regardless of their race?
As a white person in America, do I have the moral authority to referee anyone’s speech on race?
I told my new friend that I would be hesitant to call out a young Black person for using that word. He agreed that it probably wouldn’t go over well. But, he offered, taking that young Black person aside in private and explaining that it is inappropriate.
His worry is that too many people will be too casual with the N-word, as if it were just another swear word.
This one is different, he explained. It drips with an intent to dehumanize.
That’s when I thought much harder about why I don’t like the word. Is it because the word makes me uncomfortable? Or that I don’t want to believe others share my sensitivities? Or is it because I really want to advance racial harmony?
It is because the word intends to dehumanize, and deep down I resist the intent.
Having a single conversation, no matter how important, doesn’t grant me any more moral authority than I had before. But perhaps it gives me a modicum of moral understanding.
And I am a little more willing to have these conversations with those who do have the moral authority.
“Young boys still want to talk,” he said. And if there is constantly someone reminding them that their language is inappropriate, they’ll adjust. Maybe their hearts will, too.
It was totally encouraging, though I still have some doubts.
But until I develop more moral authority, I can rely on his moral rule. In any setting where the goal is to learn or build community — school, a school athletic event, church, or civic event — the N-word has no place.
And I will call it out and I will expect my kids to do the same.
I had a realization. I could just swap one discomfort for the other.
When I’m on the bus and hear someone swear, or tell a sexually-charged joke, or just talk too loud about politics, my policy is to leave them be. I have headphones for a reason.
But the N-word is different. And a place of community-building or learning is different. It deserves better. And people who go there deserve better than to be dirtied by the dirtiest word.
The only way to break through the discomfort is by challenging it head-on.
My friend helped me see that action is the burden of people who want a better world. And it’s really a tiny action on my part in the scope of things.
After all, I will never know the sting of that word used against me in the way that my kids might. I owe it to them to press through my discomfort in an effort to make their world a more tolerant place.
How Should a White Dad Talk to his Mixed-race Kids about the N-word?
At a high-school athletic event near our home, a mixed-race basketball player heard opposing fans use the N-word aimed at her.
My kids are half Black. I am 100% WASP. We talk openly about almost everything, from sex to faith; relationships to mental health.
But we don’t talk about the N-word. It feels almost completely out of bounds.
So out of bounds that, not only do we never talk about it, but I rarely think about it.
The incident at the basketball game changed that for me. It made the local news and triggered a school district investigation. I wondered why. Each week, there are hundreds of athletic and other extra-curricular events in our community. Maybe thousands. Lots of ignorant, impulsive, stupid, and even hateful things get tossed around nightly. Why was this newsworthy?
A few days later I read a LinkedIn post by a Black man describing his experience calling out some kids who used the N-word at a soccer game. In an effort to better understand his perspective and ask for some advice, I reached out to him.
In an effort to be a better dad, I’ve reflected on the experience and have identified four principles that have helped me.
Principle 1: Engage with Discomfort
Before I met the man over video conference, I thought it was time to broach the topic with my own kids. They thought it was odd that I brought it up and were oblivious of the local news item. Still, they were willing to engage as much as teens and pre-teens are on any conversation with their parents.I wanted to know if they ever use the N-word, and how often they hear it. My immediate goal was to calibrate my own discomfort with the word and better understand the source of that discomfort. It just got me thinking. And it got us talking.
Talking about the N-word, for me, was extremely uncomfortable. When we made it the subject of a conversation, it became something that threatened to divide me from my children. It’s like an oily rag, anyone who touches it gets stained. The older ones have a sense of the ugliness it carries, and in our case, it was obvious that it means something different to them than it does to me.
My conversation with the Black CEO from LinkedIn helped me develop a framework for thinking and talking about it more.
Principle 2: Look for Understanding
His story was encouraging. The experience he shared about the soccer game ended on a positive not. At first, the kids who used the N-word denied having done so. Later, they confessed and apologized.He didn’t mention the race of the kids who used the word. I didn’t ask.
As a white person in America, do I have any right to judge the severity of the offense based on the color of the trangressor’s skin? Would it have been better or worse one way or the other? I didn’t even want to find out if it changed my thinking, so I didn’t explore.
But I did wonder, what would I have done in his situation? Would I have been less offended because I am white? Or only slightly less offended because my kids are half Black?
Would I have summoned the authority to confront anyone who used that word in public, regardless of their race?
As a white person in America, do I have the moral authority to referee anyone’s speech on race?
I told my new friend that I would be hesitant to call out a young Black person for using that word. He agreed that it probably wouldn’t go over well. But, he offered, taking that young Black person aside in private and explaining that it is inappropriate.
His worry is that too many people will be too casual with the N-word, as if it were just another swear word.
This one is different, he explained. It drips with an intent to dehumanize.
That’s when I thought much harder about why I don’t like the word. Is it because the word makes me uncomfortable? Or that I don’t want to believe others share my sensitivities? Or is it because I really want to advance racial harmony?
It is because the word intends to dehumanize, and deep down I resist the intent.
Having a single conversation, no matter how important, doesn’t grant me any more moral authority than I had before. But perhaps it gives me a modicum of moral understanding.
And I am a little more willing to have these conversations with those who do have the moral authority.
Principle 3: Make a Commitment
He invited me to make a commitment. Reminding people that using the N-word in an education setting is inappropriate. Period. And like the young fans at the soccer game, they might not react with the total humility of a devout learner. But eventually, if enough of us consistently lay down a marker against hurtful language, the tide will shift.“Young boys still want to talk,” he said. And if there is constantly someone reminding them that their language is inappropriate, they’ll adjust. Maybe their hearts will, too.
It was totally encouraging, though I still have some doubts.
But until I develop more moral authority, I can rely on his moral rule. In any setting where the goal is to learn or build community — school, a school athletic event, church, or civic event — the N-word has no place.
And I will call it out and I will expect my kids to do the same.
Principle 4: Act through Discomfort
While correcting someone who uses the N-word would make me uncomfortable, so does simply hearing the word.I had a realization. I could just swap one discomfort for the other.
When I’m on the bus and hear someone swear, or tell a sexually-charged joke, or just talk too loud about politics, my policy is to leave them be. I have headphones for a reason.
But the N-word is different. And a place of community-building or learning is different. It deserves better. And people who go there deserve better than to be dirtied by the dirtiest word.
The only way to break through the discomfort is by challenging it head-on.
My friend helped me see that action is the burden of people who want a better world. And it’s really a tiny action on my part in the scope of things.
After all, I will never know the sting of that word used against me in the way that my kids might. I owe it to them to press through my discomfort in an effort to make their world a more tolerant place.
