Six million views later, I’m still thinking about one question.

When I wrote my essay about Nolan Wells, I knew I was saying something difficult. What I did not know was that more than six million people would read it.

I did not know that thousands of parents, educators, physicians, artists and advocates would enter the conversation. I did not know how many Black parents would say, “This is exactly what I have been carrying.” And I did not know how many white parents would say, with real honesty, “I had never thought about this before.”

The essay was not asking white children to take on another burden. It was asking white parents to share a responsibility that Black parents have carried largely by ourselves.

Black parents already think about the sleepover, the birthday party, the school trip, the vacation and the drive home. We think about the adults who may be present. We think about who will be believed if something goes wrong. We think about whether our child will be seen as a child. We think about how a normal childhood moment can become something very different when the child involved is Black.

So the question I was asking was not simply, “What should children do?” The deeper question was this: what does it mean for white parents, whose children are in close and loving relationships with Black children, to see themselves as part of the circle of care?

Not as rescuers. Not as heroes. Not as people taking over. But as parents who understand that friendship between children creates responsibility among adults.

Read the original essay →

The response told me this conversation was overdue

One of the most meaningful responses came from Doula Bliss, a parenting educator and childbirth advocate whose work reaches more than 100,000 people. She wrote:

“Thank you for writing this Kimberly and for the labor of putting words to something that so deeply needs to be said. As a white mother, I’m grateful for your voice and for the reminder that protecting and caring for our children’s Black friends requires action, intention, and a willingness to be true collaborators in their safety.”

Doula Bliss, parenting educator

True collaborators in their safety. That phrase stayed with me. Because collaboration is not about taking power away from Black parents. It is about refusing to leave us alone with all of the anticipating, all of the preparing and all of the fear.

It is about a white parent being willing to ask: What should I understand before this sleepover? What conversations should I have with my child? Who will be around? What will I do if something happens? How will I respond if my child’s Black friend is treated differently, blamed unfairly or put at risk?

Those are not questions that should only live in Black households.

Black parents immediately understood what I meant

Ese Janta wrote about sitting at a playground, watching her eight-year-old Black son play with five white friends. She said that since the Nolan situation, she had been wondering whether she should move somewhere with more Black people.

That comment captured something many Black parents know. Our children may be laughing, playing and building beautiful friendships while we are standing nearby calculating risk. We do not want to take away their joy. We do not want fear to define their childhoods. But we also know that affection between children does not automatically protect a Black child from the biases of the adults, institutions or systems around them.

One mother called it “the tax of being a loving, engaged, blessed, and cautious Black parent.” Another wrote, “As a mom of 3 Black suburban boys this is a reality.” Others said: “This is a missing piece.” “This is so necessary.” “You put words to something that needed to be said.”

“It should not cost this much to just exist.”

A comment capturing the exhaustion underneath it all

Shared responsibility does not mean transferring that fear to white families. It means reducing the isolation of Black families who are carrying it alone.

White parents began naming what they had never considered

Several white mothers responded with a kind of honesty that mattered. One mother wrote that she had talked with other parents about guns, alcohol and unsafe relatives who might be present. But she had never had a direct conversation about keeping children safe from racist treatment. She wrote: “I’m EMBARRASSED to say that I didn’t think of that.”

I appreciated that honesty, because this conversation cannot move forward if people are more invested in appearing informed than in becoming more responsible.

“If I can’t use my white mom privilege for good, what the hell am I even doing?”

Another mother

That is not a statement about guilt. It is a statement about capacity. What can I see that another parent may not be able to see? What responsibility can I share?

The conversation moved far beyond my own audience

Many influential voices helped carry this message into other communities. They did not redirect the conversation — they carried it. They understood that the issue was not only individual kindness. It was preparation, accountability and the willingness of adults to act before harm occurs.

NAACP Award-nominated author Kelvin Davis responded, “You did that!!!” Parenting creator Ashley Rose Reeves wrote, “Incredibly helpful, thank you!” Physician Dr. Devika B wrote, “Thank you for this.” Dr. Naana Boakye shared the post with her audience, helping extend the conversation into public health and medical spaces. Typically Lux wrote, “This was so powerful.” Holly Nicole wrote, “This is so necessary.” MalawisHouse wrote, “Kim, this is SO GOOD.”

Rose B. Simpson reminded us that other communities know this burden too

Indigenous artist and advocate Rose B. Simpson responded from her own experience as an Indigenous mother navigating spaces where white privilege often hides behind good intentions. Her reflection reminded me that this conversation reaches beyond a simple Black and white framework.

Different communities carry different histories, risks and forms of harm. But many marginalized parents understand what it means to send a child into a world where other people may not recognize the danger that child is navigating. Shared responsibility begins with listening. It also requires us to respect the specific realities of each community rather than flattening them into one experience.

Real allyship is not something we declare

An educator, @brutaliststrawberry, connected the essay to a larger truth about allyship: “You do not get to just call yourself an ally. You must do the work consistently and allow the community to want to call you that.” She continued, “It’s about showing up every single day in every way you can, including being held accountable even if you think you’re doing all you can.”

Another commenter, @thesassystrand, summarized the whole conversation in five words:

“True responsibility, not performance.”

That is exactly it. This is not about posting the right words. It is not about signaling that your family is progressive. It is not about saying your child “doesn’t see color.” It is about what happens before the children leave the house.

Then I sat down with “Nick’s mom”

After the essay went viral, something happened that I had never expected. I sat down on Instagram Live with the real “Nick’s mom.” We had never had that conversation before.

I had never publicly talked through the incident with her. I had never fully told her what her response had meant to me. We had never sat together, as a Black mother and a white mother, to look back at the same moment and talk about what shared responsibility actually looked like.

That conversation was deeply personal for me. Because what she did at the time did not erase what happened. But she did not minimize it. She did not become defensive. She did not leave me to carry the meaning of it by myself. She responded as though what happened to my child mattered to her too.

That is what I mean by shared responsibility. Not perfection. Not having all the right language. Not always knowing what to do. But being willing to remain present, to listen, to act and to understand that the safety and dignity of a Black child in your family’s circle is not somebody else’s concern.

Watch the conversation between Kimberly and “Nick’s mom” →

What shared responsibility can look like

• Having a direct conversation with the parents of your child’s Black friend before a trip, sleepover or extended outing.
• Thinking carefully about the adults, relatives, neighbors, coaches and environments your child’s friend may encounter.
• Preparing your child to tell the truth if a Black friend is blamed unfairly.
• Helping your child understand that the same behavior may not bring the same consequences for every child.
• Stepping in when another adult is making assumptions.
• Believing a Black child.
• Accepting discomfort instead of avoiding responsibility.
• Asking Black parents what partnership would actually feel helpful, rather than deciding for them.

The responsibility belongs to the adults. Our job is to prepare our children with honesty, empathy and age-appropriate language while also examining the people, systems and environments we place around them.

A few questions worth asking

• Have I ever spoken directly with the parents of my child’s Black friends about safety?
• Have I prepared my child to recognize unequal treatment?
• Does my child know what to do if a Black friend is blamed for something they did not do?
• Have I thought carefully about the adults and spaces my child brings friends into?
• Am I willing to challenge another adult if protecting a Black child requires it?
• Would I rather avoid an uncomfortable conversation or help create a safer one?

These are not questions to answer once. They are part of an ongoing practice.

The question is not whether our children are friends

The question is whether the adults responsible for them understand what those friendships require.

For generations, Black parents have been asked: How will you prepare your children for the world? I believe it is time to ask white parents another question: How will you share responsibility for the Black children who are already part of your children’s lives?

Six million views tell me that people are ready for this conversation. But views are not the goal. The goal is what happens next. The call between two parents. The decision not to leave Black parents carrying all of this alone.