What is it like to fear for your husband and son’s lives?

Growing up, I thought Kim Langley hung the moon. I didn’t hear that term until I was older, but the second I did I immediately thought of a few people who fit that bill during my life. Kim was one of them.

We ended up going to different high schools but kept in touch off and on. She went to college too, became a doctor, was a captain in the military (sadly I don’t remember which branch), got married to a wonderful, loving man who she had a son with.

The other day on Instagram she posted a picture of her guys with the caption:

I FEAR FOR THEIR LIVES….we are human….stop the HATE… we are NOT okay.

It was a powerful post. A heartfelt one. One in response to the George Floyd murder and protests.

I was in fourth grade before I realized our skin tones mattered. I always knew we had different color skin, but so what? It meant nothing.

Until we learned about the Civil War, slavery, the Klu Klux Klan and the Civil Rights Movement.

I remember how appalling it all was. You mean once upon a time Kim and I wouldn’t have been able to go to the same school? How would we have met? I couldn’t imagine a life without my best friend, or any of my other classmates. The private school we went to was integrated and very diverse.

Had her ancestors been slaves? Had they been forced to come to America?

I just couldn’t wrap my mind around it.

Kim’s family was even more upper-middle class than mine. Her dad was a principal. Her mom was a teacher. Kim was super smart. And super kind. Why would anyone want to treat her or her family differently just because of the color of their skin?

I remember feeling guilty, ashamed and sad back then when we learned about some of the injustices black people had suffered throughout history.

How could my people do that to her people?

Well, Kim –and our other classmates– helped me realize maybe my people hadn’t done anything to her people. Not all white pepe were bad, and not all black people had been slaves.

Besides, what did it matter? It was all over now. We’d learned the error of our ways and had learned to live together. We were all able to go to school with each other, weren’t we? So why was I worried about it?

Ah, those wonderful days of blissful childhood innocence. When things were black and white and there was always a happy ending.

Of course the older I got the more I realized, no. Nothing was over. Some things had changed, but there were still major problems and injustices.

When I saw Kim’s Instagram post I started to comment, “Oh, Kim, I’m so sorry…” but then I stopped.

How could I phrase anything that might not come off condescending and superior?

It also made me think of something my friend Jen said the other day when we were talking about the Ahmaud Arbery murder. She said white privilege isn’t about having money or status. It’s about having peace of mind.

As a woman, I’m on guard about my safety, but do I fear being misunderstood and potentially killed just because of my gender? Or my skin color?

No. Never.

When Wayne goes running or cycling, especially when his route includes busy streets, my biggest fear is a distracted driver hitting him.

We have the privilege of walking out of our house and taking it for granted that we won’t be hassled by law enforcement, neighbors, or random strangers because they object to our skin.

I so badly wanted to write something in support, but it all sounded so wrong. I could’ve just double tapped and moved on, but that seemed insensitive.

I ended up commenting with three heart emojis, but…that didn’t feel right either.

It’s bothered me ever since, because I never knew my friend had these concerns.

She’s Kim. She’s successful. So is her husband. They’re just like me and my husband, right? They have our same general concerns and worries.

No. They don’t.

I wish someone would invent a tolerance pill. The world sure could use one.