Every Black Man Was Once a Little Black Boy: De'Vonna Pittman on What It Means to Watch the World Watch Your Grandsons
In this op-ed, MSR contributing writer De'Vonna Pittman reflects on a moment at a local water park where she witnessed her 9-year-old grandson Bentley absorbing an elbow from a teenager without complaint, using that moment to examine what Black boys are asked to carry long before anyone pays attention to them.
Last week, I took my grandsons to a local water park.
Like most grandmothers, I spent the afternoon doing what grandparents do: watching, smiling and making memories. The boys were laughing, splashing and enjoying a carefree summer day.
What they didn’t realize was that while they were playing, I was watching something else.
I was watching the world watch them.
At one point, I noticed two teenage boys interacting with my grandson, Bentley. One of them repeatedly elbowed him. Bentley didn’t complain. He didn’t run to tell an adult. He simply absorbed it and kept playing.
He didn’t know I had seen it.
I walked over immediately.
I asked the teenager how old he was.
“Fourteen,” he replied.
I looked him directly in the eye and said, “Bentley is 9 years old. Don’t you ever do that to him again. Did he give you permission to play with him like that? Then don’t.”
The young man looked surprised. Perhaps he thought no one noticed. Perhaps he thought it was harmless.
Maybe it was.
But what struck me was not that single moment. It was what that moment represented.
Because Black boys spend much of their childhood navigating experiences that others often dismiss as insignificant.
The shove.
The joke.
The exclusion.
The assumption.
The teacher who expects less.
The store employee who watches a little too closely.
The adult who sees a threat instead of a child.
Each experience by itself may seem minor.
But a thousand small cuts still bleed.
By the time many Black boys reach 14 years old, they have already learned lessons no child should have to learn. They learn that they may be judged before they speak. They learn that they may be seen as older than they are. They learn that they may be viewed with suspicion before they have done anything wrong.
They learn that in America, their Blackness can become a burden long before they understand why.
Research has shown that Black children, particularly Black boys, are often perceived as older and less innocent than their white peers. They are disciplined more harshly in schools. They are more likely to encounter systems that punish rather than nurture. Too often, they are denied the grace and protection routinely extended to other children.
Imagine receiving those messages year after year.
Imagine being told directly and indirectly that you do not measure up.
Imagine being feared before you are understood.
Imagine carrying those experiences into adolescence and adulthood.
Then imagine being asked why you are angry.
As a society, we often focus on the moment a young Black man reacts. We dissect his decisions. We debate his behavior. We question his character.
But we rarely ask what happened before that moment.
What happened when he was 9?
What happened when he was 10?
What happened when he was 14?
What insults did he swallow?
What humiliations did he endure?
What assumptions were made about him?
What wounds were never acknowledged?
Too often, America meets Black boys with suspicion and Black men with punishment.
We wait until they are in trouble to pay attention.
We discuss them when they are arrested.
We debate them when they are incarcerated.
We mourn them when they are killed.
But we rarely ask what it would look like to truly protect them while they are still children.
As a Black grandmother, I find myself doing something many grandparents never have to do.
I am not simply watching my grandsons grow.
I am watching the world respond to them.
I celebrate their laughter, their intelligence, their curiosity and their dreams. Yet I am constantly aware that there are people who will see their skin before they see their humanity.
That reality is exhausting.
Not because my grandsons are broken, but because too often the systems and perceptions around them are.
I want a world where Bentley can run through a water park and simply be a 9-year-old boy.
A world where he is not viewed as older than he is.
A world where he is not expected to absorb disrespect without complaint.
A world where he is not forced to learn survival skills before he has fully experienced childhood.
Black boys should not have to spend their formative years proving they belong, proving they matter, or proving they are safe.
They are children.
And if we truly want healthier Black men, stronger families, safer communities and a more just society, then we must start by protecting Black boys.
Not when they become headlines.
Not when they enter courtrooms.
Not when they fill prison cells.
Now.
While they are still children.
While they are still becoming.
While there is still time for them to grow up knowing they are valued, protected and loved.
Because every Black man was once a little Black boy.
And how we treat that little boy matters.
The future of our communities depends on it.
De’Vonna Pittman is a contributing writer for the Minnesota Spokesman-Recorder.