Parents Don’t Parent Anymore. They Compete.

There used to be a visible line between parents and children.

Not a cruel line. A line of responsibility. A line of wisdom. A line that said: I’ve already walked through this stage of life, so my job is to prepare you for what’s ahead.

Now?

Parents and kids dress alike, talk alike, dance alike, listen to the same music, shop in the same stores go to the same clubs, use the same slang, and fight for the same attention online.

Half the time you can’t tell who’s raising who. It's time to stop trading wisdom for trends.

Parents used to embarrass kids because they were “old.” Now some parents are terrified of looking old. Terrified of aging. Terrified of being disconnected from youth culture. So instead of guiding the next generation, they chase it.

Everybody wants to be young forever. Nobody wants to be the elder anymore.

And children suffer because of it. A child does not need another friend.

A child needs structure.
A child needs correction.
A child needs protection.
A child needs perspective.

Most importantly, a child needs somebody willing to say:
“No.”
“That’s wrong.”
“You can do better.”
“Here’s who you are.”
“Here’s where you come from.”

But modern parenting increasingly revolves around comfort and image instead of preparation.

Parents are recording dances with children instead of reading with them.
Buying expensive shoes while schools fail them academically.
Keeping up with trends while kids grow up emotionally lost.

This problem becomes even more dangerous in Black communities because identity is already under attack from every direction.

If schools remove Black history or water it down into a few sanitized paragraphs every February, then where are Black children supposed to learn about themselves?

Where do they learn about:

• The kingdoms that existed before slavery?
• Black inventors and scientists?
• Black resistance movements?
• Economic independence?
• Community building?
• Media literacy?
• Why certain systems exist the way they do?

If home doesn’t teach it and school won’t teach it, then social media will. And social media is a terrible teacher. Algorithms raise more children than grandparents now.

That should terrify people.

A generation that does not know its history becomes easy to manipulate. Easy to market to. Easy to distract. Easy to divide. If all a child learns about Blackness comes from entertainment, celebrity culture, trauma, and consumerism, then they begin to confuse visibility with identity.

Representation is not the same thing as education.

Seeing successful Black entertainers matters. But if every conversation begins and ends with athletes, rappers, influencers, and viral moments, children start believing success only exists in narrow forms.

Where are the conversations about:

• Black architects?
• Farmers?
• Educators?
• Engineers?
• Organizers?
• Historians?
• Ownership?
• Discipline?
• Family legacy?

Some parents know every lyric to the newest songs but cannot explain who Marcus Garvey was.
Cannot explain Ida B. Wells.
Cannot explain Carter G. Woodson.
Cannot explain why the Tulsa Race Massacre matters.

That is not just an educational problem. It is a spiritual problem.

Children without historical grounding search for identity in trends. Trends change every six months. Identity should survive generations.

None of this means parents must become robotic authority figures disconnected from culture. Parents can enjoy music. Have style. Be modern. Be relatable.

But parenting requires distance.

Not emotional distance. Not cruelty. Perspective.

The parent should not be racing their child to stay young. They should be preparing their child to grow wisely.

Somewhere, adulthood became unfashionable. Responsibility became “boring.” Wisdom became less valuable than relevance.

And now society has millions of adults desperate to be seen, while millions of children desperately need guidance.

A culture survives when elders teach. Not when elders imitate.

Children do not need parents who can go viral. They need parents who can lead.

Let the church say, "Amen."

When AI Can't Tell Us Apart, Who Pays the Price?

I ran a simple experiment. I uploaded the same photo of singer Durand Bernarr into three different AI apps and asked each one to identify him (because I'm old and I didn't know who dude was on the awards show I was watching).

The results?

One confidently said Usher. Another insisted it was Lucky Daye. The third... well, it found another random Black man that wasn't even close.

Three guesses. Three wrong answers. Three completely different people.

If AI can't correctly identify a Grammy-nominated artist whose photos are all over the internet, why should anyone trust it to identify the average citizen standing in front of a camera?

Courtesy of 2026 BET Awards

Now let's talk about the elephant mounted on every telephone pole.

Flock cameras.

They're popping up everywhere. Neighborhoods. Shopping centers. Apartment complexes. Highways. The sales pitch sounds great: safer communities through smarter technology.

Who doesn't want safer neighborhoods?

But there's one question that doesn't get asked nearly enough.

What happens when the technology gets it wrong?

History has already shown that facial recognition technology has often performed worse on people with darker skin tones than on white faces. Researchers have documented those disparities for years. While many systems have improved, they're not perfect, and not every company uses the same technology or the same standards.

That matters.

Because if an AI system mistakes one Black man for another, the consequences aren't just an embarrassing error message.

• Someone gets questioned.
• Someone gets detained.
• Someone has to prove they weren't where the computer claims they were.

And once suspicion enters the room, it doesn't always leave just because the facts finally show up.

My little experiment wasn't a scientific study. It was simply a reminder that confidence isn't the same thing as accuracy. The AI didn't hesitate. It answered as if it knew exactly who it was looking at.

It didn't.

That's what concerns me most.

Computers don't have to be malicious to cause harm. They just have to be wrong often enough in situations where being wrong carries serious consequences.

We're racing to install cameras everywhere while assuming the software behind them deserves our trust.

Maybe it does. Maybe it doesn't.

But shouldn't we demand proof before allowing algorithms to help identify suspects?

Technology should assist investigations, not replace common sense.

If AI can confidently mistake Durand Bernarr for Usher, who's to say it won't confidently mistake your neighbor for someone wanted three counties away?

The danger isn't that AI makes mistakes. People do that every day.

The danger is that people often believe a computer simply because it's a computer.

And that's exactly when common sense needs to be louder than artificial intelligence.

Stop Recording. Start Running.

Every time I scroll through social media, I see another fight. 

Not an argument. Not a shouting match. A fight.

And almost every time, the video starts the same way. Someone pulls out a phone. Then another person pulls out a phone. Then five more people pull out phones.

Before long, you've got a crowd of amateur cinematographers standing three feet away from two people throwing punches as if they're covering a heavyweight championship fight for ESPN.

Then it happens.

A gun appears.

The crowd scatters.

The video cuts off.

And somewhere in the comments, people are writing "I can't believe this happened."

Really? Because I can.

What I can't believe is how we've somehow taught an entire generation that the first response to danger is to hit Record instead of running.

I remember being in shady nightclubs as a 20-something and if a fight broke out, your survival instincts kicked in. You got away from the situation. You didn't move closer to get a better look. You didn't stand around hoping to capture the perfect punch. You certainly didn't stay long enough to find out whether somebody had a weapon. 

You left.

Because common sense told you that if two people are willing to fight in public, there's no telling what happens next. 

And there were numerous times my homies and I felt the vibe of the place shift and got out of there before the fight even started. If we saw two guys posturing up and planting that back foot, we knew a punch was going to be thrown soon. Or the tell-tell sign of trouble was someone walking out of the club after a disagreement (because you knew that he was going to his vehicle to retrieve a weapon).

Today's social media culture has flipped that instinct upside down. Everything is content. Every moment is an opportunity for views.

The problem is that real life isn't content. Real life has consequences. A fistfight can become a shooting in seconds. A crowd can become a crime scene in seconds.

And the people filming often become victims simply because they stayed around longer than they should have.

What's especially troubling is that many young people have never been taught a simple rule:

If violence starts, create distance.

Immediately.

Not after you get a few seconds of footage. Not after you post it to your story. Not after you see who wins.

Immediately.

Schools spend time teaching fire drills. They teach lockdown drills. They teach severe weather procedures. Maybe we also need to teach situational awareness. Maybe we need to teach kids that their phone is not more important than their safety. Maybe we need to teach them that nobody has ever regretted leaving a dangerous situation too early.

Every tragic video that circulates online carries the same silent lesson. Most people watching the footage are focused on what happened during the fight.

I'm focused on the people standing around it. Because many of them had a chance to leave. Not because they were trapped but because they were filming.

I'm not suggesting that recording incidents never has value. There are situations where documentation matters. But a random fight in a parking lot, school hallway, gas station, or street corner isn't a documentary project.

Your first responsibility is your own safety. The phone can wait. The likes can wait. The views can wait.

Your life can't.

Parents, please teach your children this.