Ebony Roberts and Shaka Senghor: How to co-parent as allies, not adversaries | TED

I remember watching my father raise the pistol to my mother's head. She pleaded with him to put the gun down, but he ignored her. When she bolted toward the door, he followed close behind. And once outside, he fired one single shot. I was 12. I remember this moment frame by frame. I remember feeling numb. I remember feeling alone. Thank God the bullet missed her. But my family would never be the same. I would never be the same. I didn't know then all the ways that my parents on again, off again relationship would impact me. But I knew I didn't want a love like theirs. My story would be different. Years later, when I met you, I fell madly in love. Our connection was undeniable. It was as if you had been handpicked just for me. I thought we'd be together forever. But we struggled with some of the same issues my parents had. And after nearly nine years together, we called it quits. We had Sekou then. He was only three. Though he was too young to really understand what was going on. He was old enough to know that Mommy and Daddy weren't going to be living in the same house anymore. Our breakup hit me really hard. But I decided I wouldn't let my broken heart get in the way of what was best for Sekou. We struggled initially, trying to navigate this new space as co parents. I asked myself, how do we raise this beautiful boy, full of wonder and promise and so much power? In spite of our failures as a couple, the answer for me was simple. I could either choose fear, fear of being alone, fear of the unknown, or choose love. And I chose love. That means seeing the good in you as a father. It means seeing the good in you as a father and not your missteps as a partner. It means putting Sekou first every time. Even if it means I don't get my way. I know my parents went back and forth trying to work things out for my brothers, my brother and I's sake. Though I appreciate their effort, I wish they hadn't. I saw too much. I heard too much. I knew I didn't want that to be Sekou's story. I wanted Sekou to know what it was like to see two parents who got along, two parents who work together as a team. I wanted him to know what love looks like in its truest form. Love is patient. Love is kind. Love does not anger easily keeps no wrongs. Love always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.

It was 1983. I was 11 years old. I remember being in the basement with my father in our home. On the east side of Detroit. I watched him stuff albums into the blue and orange milk crates as tears streamed from his eyes. Just before that, my mother and I, him and my mother, had just sat me and my siblings down and told us that they were calling it quits. Thirty years later, I found myself with tears in my eyes as I put back my belongings in our home. Evan and I met while I was serving a 19 year prison sentence. For four years, we used letters, phone calls, and visits to build what we imagined to be an unshakable bond. We fought the system together, and we thought that we would be able to right the wrongs of our parents. She was a poet. I was a writer. She was gorgeous with a PhD. I was handsome with a GED. But we built something magical. We built something that we thought would endure. But unfortunately, our relationship became unhinged when I was released from prison. Post traumatic stress syndrome. Trauma from prior to going to prison, baggage from her relationship. My inexperience in a relationship undid the magic of what we built behind the walls. Centered in all of that was our beautiful boy. I remember when we first brought Sekou home. It was so exciting. It was amazing. We worked together, we collaborated, we supported each other. You took the night shift, I took the morning shift. And it was going amazing. And then it all changed. It changed. The morning that you came in, really excited. You was like, hey, I'm going back to work. Aren't you excited? And I was like, yes, I am ecstatic right now. I could not be more delighted. But inside I was really afraid. But I couldn't tell you that. So instead I said, hey, go off and have a wonderful day. And you left. And I was left with Sekou. What I understand now about that moment is that we were fostering the trust that's necessary for parents to coexist. And that you are trusting me with our most precious gift. And that you are building the foundation and the blocks for what's important for this portal we call parenthood.

Knowing how our parents breakups impacted us, you know, we were really sensitive about how our breakup would impact Sekou. We struggled, but we found our way and, let's say, could tell it. We're the best parents in the world. I love that he sees us that way. We made a choice in the beginning to co parent as allies and not adversaries. To break the toxic pattern that we see play out over and over again. When parents lose focus on what's most important, the children, they allow their relationship pain to get in the way. But at the end of the day, we're on the same team, and that's Sekou's team. You know, I have to admit, we have an unconventional relationship. A lot of people don't understand. We're not perfect as parents or people, but we honor each other's role and Sekou's life. We allow him to do things that our parents would never allow us to do. We don't allow our fears to put limits on him. We nurture his natural curiosity about the universe and his relationship to the world. Remember that time when we were coming in from a long day of work and Sekou found a puddle outside? A puddle of mud, mind you, Had a brand new fresh outfit on Levi's from head to toe. And he found this puddle of mud and he reached for it and he wanted to touch the muddy earth. And we allowed him to do that. We resisted the urge to say no, and in fact went and got him a shovel and allowed him to feel the earth's properties and explore as much as he wanted to. And he played and was as happy as a pig in mud. We realized that the outfit could be washed, that a bath would clean up all the dirt. But the thrill of being in the moment, of being able to touch and be amazed at this thing that he had never discovered before, was more valuable than the clothes or the dirt that could be washed away. We continue to rethink what is right and wrong when it comes to parenting, say, who challenges us every day, even, you know, we allow him to climb on couches and draw on his clothes and his shoes, let him run around the store. Well, I do anyway. And I get the death stares from other mamas who look at me and who think that children should be quiet and well behaved in public. I also get those questions that are really judgments, but I don't pay them any mind. Because at the end of the day, our job is to guide Sekou on this journey of life, not to control him. We're here to help him figure out his place in the world, to uncover his greatest gifts, to discover why he was born. We are raising a free black boy in a world that despises black joy. And we refuse to put limits on him that the world already has.

Our parenting can be seen as an allegory, but it's two sided coin of possibilities. On one side, the reality of raising a black boy in a society that says that black boys, black bodies and black lives only seen as profitable or disposable. And then there's the other side, possibility of two parents who no longer together, coexisting, supporting each other, loving each other, showing affection publicly in a way that honors the relationship with our son. And even more importantly is the power to support each other in those vulnerable moments. There was this one time that it was my day to go pick up Stay Cool. You remember that time I go pick Sekou up. He's in first grade. And as I'm walking up, another parent walks up and says, hey, Shaka, I seen Oprah Winfrey give a shout out to you on CNN last night. She was super excited, exuberant even. I was mortified because I thought, what's going to happen when she tells another parent and they tell another parent, and then they go and look me up, and then they discovered that I was in prison for second degree murder. And then a child hears about it, and they come to school and they say to Sekou, your dad was convicted of murdering someone. And I remember as watching Sekou race out, and I knew that I had to call Ebony. When I called her, explained to her what happened. Ebony said, you have to have the talk. So I took Seko home, got him ready for bed, and we talked for half an hour. And I talked to him about why I went to prison. And I listened to his feedback. And then we called his mom so we can do our nightly ritual of her offering prayer. And then me doing affirmations. And I remember holding him tightly. And I realized the importance of the affirmations that we do at night. And I see them as a roadmap, as a guide, as a touchstone for other parents to protect and to empower their children, especially in a world where it's very difficult. For us, co parenting is so much more than scheduling pickup and drop off play dates, deciding what he's going to wear, what he's going to eat. For us, it's about helping each other carry the weight, unpack the load, and to show up in the world in a way that honors the beauty of our son. And it's for these reasons that we do affirmations.

We never thought we'd be here, but here we are. And we hope that the way that we show up for Sekou and for each other is a model of what successful co parenting can look like. We'd like to bring you all in to this nightly ritual of affirmations that Shaka does with Sekou every night at bedtime.

Hey, I am great.

I am great.

I am awesome.

I am awesome.

I am amazing.

I'm amazing.

I am thoughtful.

I'm thoughtful.

I am kind.

I'm kind.

I'm loving.

I'm loving.

I am caring.

I am caring.

I am funny.

I'm funny.

I'm smart.

I'm smart.

I'm a big boy.

I'm a big boy.

I'm a soldier.

I'm a soldier.

I'm a warrior.

I'm a warrior.

I am Sekou.

I'm Sekou.

Good job, Bab.