The shooting death of 14-year-old C.W. Jefferys student Jordan Manners has caused many of my carefully hidden fears to surface. Precious cargo, I call them, so precious that we must go out of our way to protect them, shield them, save them. As the mother of a young black male, I believe there is no other sex and race of person that is more endangered in the western world.

My son is not safe. And I do not mean he is not safe in the way we are all not safe; he is not safe in some very specific ways. And yes, I know, all parents feel some degree of fear about their child’s safety, but no parent worries more about the safety of their child than the parent of a young black male. I am certain of this.

Usually I am able to keep my paranoia at bay.

For example, I do not fear losing my son to gangs. Quite frankly the factors that lead most young men into gangs are simply not part of his life. His family support, parental involvement, economic status and educational potential simply do not fit the profile of children who succumb to this lifestyle. He is kept adequately busy with a slew of after-school activities and at the age of six, he if one of the most confident little people you will meet. Although I do not write gangs off as a danger, I do not fear them.

I also do not fear losing him to pitfalls of early parenting. Not because this may not happen, but because even if it does, the family support and parental involvement previously mentioned will carry him until he can carry himself. Although I do not write early parenting off as an obstacle, I do not fear it.

Nor I do fear losing him to an education system that is generally inhospitable to all males, but in particular, to black males. My son is smarter that I ever was, and I was pretty smart — actually I like to think I still am. In addition, his father and I are vigilant and involved in all aspects of his education. I know all parents must be vigilant and involved, but none must be as vigilant and as involved as the parents of young black men. It’s tiring.

But the death of Jordan Manners has unnerved me, unearthing many of my buried fears.

I cannot deny my fear of losing my son to an inhospitable world that will not allow him to be his full self. I fear the day he realizes just how much more difficult life is for him, just how many more hoops he must jump through to be considered equal, and just how much more of himself he must hide or suppress to be part of the crowd. I fear this realization may kill him from the inside just as surely as a bullet can kill him from the outside.

I am also finding it hard to deny my fear of losing him to gun violence. Not because he will be a participant in it, but by merely being a young black male walking around, he is by his very existence, a target. I know all parents fear losing a child to inexplicable violence, but none fear this more than the parents of young black men. It’s daunting.

What’s more, I fear losing him to stupidity and youthful exuberance. Young black men are not given the same space and time to develop into responsible adults. They are judged more harshly for youthful, stupid, and thoughtless actions, the consequences of which can be fatal. I fear Jordan Manners and his assailants fell victim to this. I know, all parents, particularly those of young men, fear the consequences of stupidity and youthful exuberance, but none fear this more than the parents of young black men. It’s overwhelming.

Finally, I am having an awfully hard time shaking the fear that I may lose my son to mistaken identity. The list of black men who have been the victims of mistaken identity is long and varied. Sean Bell, the young man killed in November 2006 outside a New York nightclub by a hail of police bullets the night before his wedding is our latest example of this. Mistaken identity cuts across economic class, educational backgrounds and personality profiles. At any given time, simply for being a black male, my son may be considered a thug, gangbanger, thief, rapist, muggerâe¦you get the gist. No amount of good parenting can prevent this.

For now my son is safe and blissfully unaware of my fears or my worries. I am aware my fears sound like the ranting of a mother who has given in to her paranoia, but I cannot shake it. I like to think of myself as rigorously logical, and if you spoke with those who know me, they would probably say the same. But he’s my son.

Tricia Hylton

Tricia Hylton is a freelance writer living in Toronto, Ontario. Through her writing, Tricia hopes to provide insights to create conversation and understanding on the impact of Canada’s social, economic...