I chose to place a bet on you, humanity, not Princess-Trots-A-Lot. Run hard.

I'm not a betting woman. Never have been, never will be. I'm a physician, a practical scientist. I research and gather information others have published, I pay careful attention to my own personal experiences and I draw conclusions. Then, I apply those conclusions to care for my patients to the best of my ability. I love sure things. Treatments emphatically proven to be effective. But, I'll accept a calculated risk in certain situations. It's always a tight-rope act, walking a high wire, balancing risk versus benefit. It's what I do.

However, for full disclosures sake, I will admit that I have dropped a couple of rolls of quarters into a slot machine in my lifetime, purely for entertainment. But, when the quarters were gone, so was I. And, we have a nice horse racing facility within a few minutes of our home. You can sit in the glass enclosed restaurant and watch the thoroughbreds run. I find them to be majestic creatures. So graceful, yet powerful.

And, yes, I've placed a couple of bets on them, too. A dollar here, three dollars there. Nothing crazy. Again, just for fun. However, I can assure you, I have not and never will be betting on a horse like "Princess-Trots-A-Lot," simply because she has "such a cute name." No, if I'm going to spend even a dollar, I do a little research. I look at the book. I see who's been running well recently. I see in what types of conditions each horse excels. I look at how they compare to everyone else in the current field. I look at the jockey. Then, I place my bet.

Calculated risk.

And, actually, I do pretty well. I would "wager," statistically speaking, I win more than I should just because of the meager research I do.

So, there you have it, I disclosed I have, on a few occasions in my life, made some rather meaningless bets. I hope you don't find that offensive and will continue reading.

But, a little over thirteen years ago, my husband and I decided to place a really big bet. High stakes. The kind that could really get you into some trouble, if you're not careful. No, there were no loan sharks involved. Actually, it was even bigger than that. We didn't wager any money. We wagered our hearts. Our whole hearts.

We chose to check a box on a form confirming we didn't care what the child God had picked out for us looked like. We were willing to trust God had a plan for our lives and He would supply the wisdom we needed to navigate the journey He laid out for us. We trusted Him implicitly, because our whole lives up to that point told us He was more than worthy.

God, based on my research and experience, was a sure thing.

Then, after our beautiful black daughter was placed in our arms, we did it again. We calculated the risk and made the wager. This one, however, was much riskier. Because, we chose to bet on humanity.

We did our research and found eager men, women and children had been fighting the battle for racial justice since the early 1800's. Martin Luther King, Jr delivered his famous "I Have A Dream" speech in 1963. I had personally sang the song "Jesus loves the little children, all the children of the world. Red, brown, yellow, black and white, they are precious in his sight. Jesus loves the little children of the world," in church since the early 1970's. Humanity had been fighting this war for two hundred years. It had to be almost over. Didn't it?!

Surely by the time our precious baby reached adulthood the world would have this all figured out. Surely we could raise her to believe her skin color was an important part of her heritage, but was not a rate limiting factor in her life. Surely we could teach her the keys to a contented life were to love the Lord her God, to live a life above reproach, to be kind and love her neighbor, to investigate her God given talents and passions and pursue them relentlessly, just like we had her three white sisters before her.

It was 2007. Surely humanity was about to get this right. Right?!

So, we drew a deep breath, went to the window and placed our bet. On you.

Then, for thirteen years, we let it ride.

And just where are we now?

I'm not sure. But, I fear, we made a bad bet.

I watched "Remember the Titans" with our daughter a few nights ago. The movie is based on the true story of racial integration of the T.C. Williams High School football team in Alexandria, Virginia in 1971 and the coaches and players who were instrumental in making it happen relatively successfully. I hoped the movie might serve as a springboard for conversation about historical racial inequality and her perception of our current situation.

Unfortunately, she didn't give me much to work with. Or perhaps, more accurately, I'm not sure I liked what she gave me.

"So, what did you think of the movie last night?"

"It made me want to play football."

We weren't going there, again. "My darling, you are fast and you have great hands. But you're tiny. I fear some big guy would like nothing better than to smash you flat. Anything else?"

"Okay." Exaggerated sigh. "It was sad."

This was promising. "Yes it was. What did you think was sad?"

"The guy got paralyzed."

"Yes that was very sad." Exaggerated sigh. "Anything else?"

"I'm glad they became friends."

Yes! "Who became friends?"

"Julius and Superman."

No. Not exactly anyway. "Me too. They were very good friends. What about everyone else on the team and their parents and the coaches and the fans and the people in the community? What did you think about that?"

"I didn't like it. It was scary."

"Do you ever feel like anyone treats you differently because of the color of your skin?"

"No. I don't think so."

"Never?"

"No."

At that moment in time, I didn’t know exactly how to feel. Part of me wanted to jump for joy. What had I learned? My little girl really believed because of her God given talent and hard work she could play football. She felt empathy for someone who had been injured. She cherished friendship. She didn't like racial injustice. And, she also believed the color of her skin did not affect the way people looked at her. Isn't that exactly what we had set out to accomplish? We'd done it.

Only one problem. I knew it wasn't true. I knew she had been targeted, I'd simply chosen to protect her from it.(see 6/28 post) And I feared what was still to come as she grew into a young adult.

Like her older teenage brothers. They did not grow up in our home. They've been with us for almost a year. And, they are beautiful to me. But, to the world, they look like black men. And, I know they've been targeted, too. Right there in the Nike outlet store. Standing less than five feet from me.

We had spent well over an hour back to school shopping. The boys each had the same amount of money to spend. And they all wanted to stretch it as far as they could. So they looked at original prices and calculated sale prices. In their heads. No phones. Just good, old-fashioned math. I refused to help. If they wanted to buy, they had to compute. I've never seen three teenage boys so quiet and well-behaved. They were on a mission.

And once they had finally selected their items we got into line. My oldest son had his old Nike lanyard with his ID and car keys hanging out of his pocket. It was obvious, in plain view.

But, it didn't matter. Nothing they had done right that day mattered. Not the respect they had shown me during the entire trip. Not their willingness to play my math game. Not the careful consideration they gave to shopping and spending wisely. None of it mattered. It seemed the only thing that did was the fact they were three, young black men.

I walked up to the counter and the boys placed all of their finds on top. Then they stepped aside to make room for the next shopper to pass. The teenage white male clerk was ringing our purchase when the late twenties white male manager came over and "whispered" in his ear.

"Check that black kids pockets. I think he stole that lanyard."

I say whispered, but obviously, it was said plenty loud for me, a shopper he obviously did not know was associated with "that black kid," to hear. Why if not to humiliate and embarrass? Or to propagate his belief young black men can't be trusted. I don't know.

My blood began to boil. But, I didn't know what to do. Should I throw a fit and storm out of the store? No, because the boys had worked really hard to spend their money wisely on things they wanted and needed. And it wasn't Nike's fault.

It was the ignorance of a store employee who obviously had profiled my boys. So I addressed it directly with him. "'That black kid' is with me. And these things belong to him. He didn't steal anything."

He looked back at me stunned and silent. Then, he walked away. No apology offered. No apparent remorse. No explanation.

It's that memory that robs me of the joy I would have otherwise felt at the end of my daughter and I's conversation. It's what keeps me from jumping and, instead, makes me want to cry.

Because I placed a bet thirteen years ago and then I lived like I believed it was a good one.

I preached equality and highlighted all the ways we were alike to all of my children. I celebrated their beautiful skin and learned all about natural hair products, but explained everyone has to find out what works best for them, not just black people. I told them the police were their friends and they were always there to protect them. And as long as they followed the rules, they would never have any reason to fear. I told them if they treated people with loving kindness, the favor would be returned.

I endeavored to equip my children for a successful life: church, travel, tutoring, healthy foods, sports lessons, reading, museums. All the things I thought would help them in the future. The future I had bet on. The one where the battle was over and the dream was realized. The one where children were judged "by the content of their character" and not the color of their skin.

Unfortunately, I may have made a foolish bet. Because it's been thirteen years and I don't think much has changed in that time. For my children, we're in the home stretch and humanity seems to be bringing up the rear.

I've done everything I set out to do. My daughter's answers prove it. And, thirteen years ago I would have longed for those answers. The same answers that frighten me now. Because I hoped everyone would be considered equal by this time. I prayed all children would have the same opportunities and privilege. So I did it. I gave my black children a privileged life. And, they bought everything I was selling hook, line and sinker. They believe they are just like everyone else in our family. They have "pseudo-white privilege."

And it could hurt them. Even kill them.

Because they believe they are one thing: a unique individual created in the image of God, designed to do great things. While some sectors of society still see them as something totally different: that black kid.

I'm not a betting woman. I prefer the sure thing. But, this time, I took a calculated risk. And trusted all of my children, black or white, could be treated fairly. Could be loved by all mankind. Could grow up and use their God given gifts to help make the world a better place for all.

And I bet on all of us. You and me. All of humanity and the goodness and grace of God to do miraculous things.

Please. Run hard. Don't give up. The race isn't over yet.

Make me a winner.