I Prepared My Children For a Harris Win. I Did Not Prepare Them For Her Loss.

This article was originally published by The Emancipator.

At 10 years old, this is the first election that my son, William, has generally understood. He wanted to stay up and watch the election results with me. After all, our household has talked about the election nonstop and even put up a Harris-Walz sign.

We talked about the historic nature of having a Black woman, and my fellow Howard University alum, as the president of the United States. 

We were all excited, but I told him it would be late and he needed to sleep. Early Wednesday morning, William burst into my room with anticipation. “Did she win? Did Kamala win?” I exhaled. “Oh son, she lost. Trump won.” He gasped, “What? Nooooo.” 

He started to pepper me with questions. He wanted to know why she lost, how she lost, and what would happen with Project 2025. Would Trump get rid of public schools? Would he get rid of free lunch? His questions then turned into tears.

We were both heartbroken, and I struggled to find the words to comfort him and to tell him it would be ok. William is precocious and empathetic. He also, likely, consumes way too much YouTube.

I realized that while I prepared him for Vice President Harris winning, I did not prepare him for her losing. I’m not sure I even prepared myself. It’s like having a doctor telling you to prepare for the death of a loved one. What does that even mean or entail?

As a Black family, we try to always be honest with our kids, especially about race. We answer their questions, but never with more information than they need. For example, I tell my children that slavery was wrong and violent, but they are too young to process all of what the violence of slavery entails.

I know we will come back to this topic as they mature, but protecting what they know and what they can handle is paramount. We point out things to get them to be critical thinkers about everything from race to gender to food or nature. However, my husband and I were intentional about holding off on politics. 

During the summer of 2020, I wanted to take William to a protest with me. My husband shut it down. “Nope, nope, no, William is six. This is a protest, not a parade,” he said. He worried about something going awry. What if things got violent? He told me he was actively trying to give our son something many Black boys do not have: a childhood.

We did not take my son to a protest because we knew he only had a few more years left of innocence. That summer, when Black Lives Matter signs were posted everywhere, I asked William what he thought that phrase meant. He gleefully answered, “It means I am a handsome boy.” I affirmed his declaration, “Yes, it does, son.”

Now at age 10, his innocence is barely holding on. I held him in my arms, and I called my husband who was traveling overseas for backup. With my husband on speaker phone and my arm around William, we began to affirm him. I said, “You’re ok. We’re ok. It’s going to be ok. What does Mommy’s book say?” He responded, “We refuse.”

“That’s right,” I said, “We refuse, we keep fighting, we keep working to make the world a better place for everyone.” We hugged. We also connected him back to our faith. 2 Timothy 1:7 is a Bible verse he has memorized since the age of three: “For God has not given us the spirit of fear, but of power, love, and a sound mind.” In the long history of America, many battles are lost, but Black people are never defeated. We always retained our power, love, courage, and particularly, a sound mind.

My kids could not understand why adults could not accomplish what they had been preaching. Many of us talk about our children’s future as a motivational factor for voting. I am thinking about my kids and everyone else’s kids when I take into account what’s at stake.

Kellie Carter jackson

I talked to my own parents that morning as well. And true to my upbringing, they pointed me toward my faith and told me to read Psalms 31. They encouraged me and my sister. We were all angry and in grief. I needed their wisdom just like my son needed mine. They told us to be around people who would give shelter to our feelings.

Despite my ability to give comfort to my child, I was numb. I could feel anxiety hardening in my chest. I’m typically an optimistic person, but a Trump victory almost made me feel foolish for hoping, for thinking that this country could show up for Black women the way we show up for this country time and time again. I said, “It was going to be ok.” Did I believe that? Yes, I did. But my heart was still wounded.  

That day, William didn’t want to go to school. Shoot, I didn’t want to go to work. But it was a half day, done by 11 a.m. I told him we were going to school and work because we needed to be with our friends. Community is a balm. The greatest sting in grief is isolation. I went to my office and recorded my podcast about the political fallout and true enough, my co-hosts’ solidarity gave me the therapy I needed.

I went home to enjoy, somewhat guiltily, the unusual 80-degree weather in Boston with my children. As soon as I walked in the door, I said, “Get your shoes on. We’re going for a hike.” As we walked the trails in the woods behind our home, I let all three of my children express to me their big feelings.

My 4-year-old Charlotte said, “A teacher was crying at school today. She voted for Kamala.” My 7-year-old Josephine said, “My friend told me Trump doesn’t think a woman can be president, but that’s just crazy because women can do anything. Women are just as powerful as men.” William just reiterated his feelings of sadness. 

I let them talk. We walked, stopped for breaks, and walked some more. They needed to process their feelings, and I did too. I let them do most of the talking and affirmed them when they made a valid point. 

Children need to be heard.

I felt weak, but hearing them gave me hope. They really care about what matters in the most simplistic way. Right is right. Wrong is wrong. The earliest lessons we give children is to teach them to share, to think of others, and to be kind.

My kids could not understand why adults could not accomplish what they had been preaching. Many of us talk about our children’s future as a motivational factor for voting. I am thinking about my kids and everyone else’s kids when I take into account what’s at stake. I struggled to grasp what it is about adulthood that compels us to abandon these principles.

I held it together for the entire walk, but when we got home, Harris was getting ready to give her concession speech at Howard University. It was hard to take in the crowd of tearful supporters in a place I know well and love. I had just attended Howard’s 100^th Homecoming where the joy was so powerful and palpable, it nearly erased the anxiety I felt leading up to Election Day.

As I looked at the podium in front of Frederick Douglass Hall, I reminded my kids that this is where mommy went to school. But when she reached the point in her speech that invoked Howard’s motto, “truth and service,” I could not stop the tears.

I was heartbroken. HBCUs have always fought to employ truth to “set the captives free.” Truth is supposed to be liberating. But the election showed me many of us would rather be in service of, and in bondage to, a lie than create a better world for everyone.   

My daughter asked what Harris was going to do now. “Well,” I said, “She’s still the vice president, and that’s still historic.” She still has her job and that matters, too.

I don’t know when America will have another chance to elect a Black woman president of the United States — or any woman for that matter. It could be another 50 or 60 years. One thing is for sure: During the next four years, there will be plenty of opportunities to challenge ideas and systems that are harmful and violent. 

My mother reminded me that as a college student in 1968, she thought the world was on the brink of collapse. I feel that way now. One day, my children will also understand why freedom struggles are essential and ongoing, especially in the face of defeat and uncertainty. 

In the meantime, my husband and I are teaching our kids that it’s ok to work for a dream, and it’s ok to cry and lament when that dream is deferred.

But we never stop working toward a goal of justice and liberation. We want our children to have an insatiable appetite for truth and service. And when injustice runs amuck, we are teaching them to know that they are not alone. There will always be people who will clasp arms with them and collectively refuse.