PARENTING IN A WORLD GONE MAD
My son can’t play with toy guns. That was a rule from when he first joined my family as our foster child, and it wasn’t in place just because my husband and I had loaded firearms pointed at our faces in two separate, equally harrowing encounters. The decision to not have “blasters” in the house is a necessity—my son is Black, and he could be shot for holding one, especially by a police officer.
The concern for his immediate safety wasn’t originally a concern at all when it came to
