For Jaden, Willow, Quvenzhané and Other Carefree Black Kids

By Cairo Amani

My grandfather is a well-meaning, Black, Christian man. He’s made some mistakes. At 90, I’m not sure if he understands them all. At 26, I’m not sure if I forgive them all.

I’m currently Black, queer and unapologetic. I’ve got far less humility and shyness about those things than my dad would like. I won’t hesitate to tell a family member that the masculine-presenting woman I bring to dinner is my girlfriend. I show off my tattoos. I go to the beach and lay half naked in the sand in hopes of getting…[Gasps.]…darker! When I was younger, I hated that these things seemed to be what my dad noticed more than my publications, my career, my academic achievements or my intelligence. Now, I realize he didn’t know any better. I’ve also accepted he might never know any better. And, when it comes down to it, this doesn’t affect my life at all.

When we stifle a child’s voice and chance at self-expression, we too take part in barring off access to a kid’s true self.

But when you’re a child, your parents’ opinions dictate your world. And if you grew up like I did, with strict, religious supervision, you didn’t get to do very much. In the fifth grade, I had a pair of black jeans that were too big for me. They were my favorite pants because I could wear them hanging low like the boys in my class. One day, those pants were gone. I asked my dad if he’d seen them. “I put them up,” he said. When I asked “why” he answered, “I know why you like those pants. You better not wear them again.” I couldn’t quite articulate what he was implying at the time, but I understood enough to be overcome with a stifling sadness. I sat in my room upset for hours but I never got those pants back. In fact, I didn’t get to wear baggy jeans again until college, for a brief stint where I was figuring out the loudest way to be a Black, single, queer woman. At the moment, it seemed like masculinity was it (I know, I know).

My point being: Clothes often have a lot to do with a child’s (or adult’s) gender expression. ELIXHER has been through so many changes with me, including some that revolved around my identity and how it connected to my style of dress. As a child, I didn’t have any room to explore that part of myself. The best I could get was my dad’s low key desire for a son that led to some semi-joy in having a tomboy daughter. He never made me wear a dress but he also wouldn’t buy me boy’s clothing, let me lift heavy things or let me take boxing lessons (which I wanted badly because he had boxed in the Navy). For a brief moment I considered the military and my dad cautioned me against it for fear I’d be raped. “They’re horrible to female soldiers,” he told me. Valid.

The Smith kids harbor the very things that American society tries to beat out of Black people from the moment they’re born; confidence, understanding of self, and the realization of Black Magic.

There were some things he loved about me, but there were so many things that confused and scared him. For 18 years I dealt heavily with my father’s own fight against his joy and terror over having a queer child. So, when the Smith kids grew wings and jumped into the spotlight, I admit I was a little jealous. I mean, how lucky are they to have what basically looks like unlimited wealth and freedom? By the time Willow began her singing career though, I was well into adulthood (whatever that means), so my jealousy quickly turned into a strange love and protectiveness.

Willow was strong, bold and seemingly untouched by the grimey hands of white patriarchal society. She took a break to “just be a kid” and came back woke as fuck. When The New York Times Magazine interview came out it was met with mixed reviews. A lot of people were quick to call them weird and say super hurtful things about their upbringing and views. (I’m sure they didn’t care, they could pay everyone’s bills). But I felt immediately defensive. Here’s why.

In the interview, Willow and Jaden say two things that pretty much define them: They don’t care what people think and they can control time. Yep. Are they weird? Oh, hell yeah. Is that a bad thing? I don’t think so. The Smith kids harbor the very things that American society tries to beat out of Black people from the moment they’re born: confidence, understanding of self, and the realization of Black Magic. The Smith kids read and they like reading. They seem to read everything they can get their hands on. Then, with their knowledge, they make art.

Regardless of whether or not people agree with Will and Jada’s parenting, it’s necessary to admit that there is a lesson to be learned from their children: give less fucks.

Education is something America purposely hinders Black people from attaining. From cost to quality in educators to straight up classist and racist admission processes, America puts wall after wall between Black people and higher education. But not only are we hindered from formal education, we’re discouraged from teaching ourselves. On the daily, we’re subconsciously told and shown that we’re lesser, unimportant, unworthy and hopeless. While people said that Jaden and Willow were crazy and brainwashed, I was over here aspiring to raise my future kids to be like them.

I admit they’re scary. But that’s because we’re taught to fear Black strength, especially queer Black strength. It takes courage to wake up every day and call your skin beautiful. It takes courage to pick up a book you’ve never read on a topic you know nothing about and even more courage to read it and more courage still to talk about it. It takes courage to own your intelligence when you are brown, when you’re a woman, when you’re queer. Regardless of whether or not people agree with Will and Jada’s parenting, it’s necessary to admit that there is a lesson to be learned from their children: give less fucks.

As Willow and Jaden grew, they got bold with their appearance. People complained Willow had too much freedom. Jaden let the world know he appreciates wearing women’s clothing. While she went from whipping her hair to being bald and he went from skinny jeans to baby doll dresses, people speculated about their sexuality. Someone asked if Willow was gay and she responded, “I’m 11.” They reclaimed their bodies. Their musical styles transformed alongside this. Now Jaden is the face of a women’s clothing line. This, too, is scary. It uproots toxic views of masculinity and makes fragile men and women uncomfortable. Good. Jaden isn’t harming anyone. Willow isn’t harming anyone. But they are shedding light on centuries of harm done to the Black mind and body and that is difficult to face.

Lastly, there is something beautiful happening here before our eyes. These kids are being kids. Despite living in the spotlight, they’re living out what childhood should be — a chance to grow, explore and learn to love yourself despite a world that tells you not to. A snippet of an interview with Quvenzhané Wallis has gone viral. In it, the interviewer assumes that she wants to be spoken to like an adult or at least an older child. He asks if she saw the movie Annie when she was a little girl and she replies that she is still a little girl. Shout out to realness. Shoutout to being comfortable in one’s youth.

When America takes to social media to attack Black kids, the society we live in reveals how we erase Black childhood. When we stifle a child’s voice and chance at self-expression, we too take part in barring off access to a kid’s true self. What we may think is protecting them, like my dad thought he was doing for me, can end up being incredibly harmful and has the potential to stunt their growth as they move into adulthood.

As the political climate in our country begins to really show its ass (thanks to social media and digital technology), safe spaces for QTPOC become more and more important. Women have to support women. Men need to support men. Women and men need to support each other and we can’t forget our children. We are lighting torches that we eventually have to pass on. So many queer Black kids don’t have comfortable homes where they can be themselves. We need to build roofs over their heads and give them space to run free and explore their humanity. And, when you do stumble upon a child who is lucky enough to be carefree, you should never shoot them down because, while children aren’t adults just yet, they’re still human beings.

Cairo loves moleskin notebooks, considers Scrivener a godsend, and enjoys reading, dancing, and board games that involve doing silly things for points. You can find out more about her here: about.me/cairoamani.