Summer break is finally over, and it is so exciting to see the back-to-school pictures of kids I may have never met but still consider my internet family. This time of year always reminds me of possibility, but more importantly, responsibility.
The conversations I have with my children before school begins are getting more mature. They have gone from “Be kind to people,” “Share your toys,” and “Say please and thank you,” to “Please be more cautious about the kind of friends you choose,” and explaining to my son why his behavior must be above reproach because, in certain environments, young Black boys are disciplined differently.
This summer, the world had its eyes on Mississippi and the disappearance of Nolan Wells.
Nolan was an 18-year-old who went boating with his friends on Horn Island. Nolan was Black, while his friends were predominantly white. Things became mysterious when his friends returned, and Nolan did not. Two days later, his body was found along the shoreline.
The story captivated social media and podcasts. His mother, a nurse practitioner in Mississippi, was heartbroken, and his father was at a loss for words. Nolan was special. But all of our children are special, right?
He was young, athletic, and had a promising future in football. His mother spoke of his quiet strength, while his father spoke of his athleticism. His friends posted tributes, remembering him as a typical teenager who played video games and hung out with his friends.
And then, mysteriously, he was gone.
We are left with more questions than answers.
My children had questions, too. Many of our dinner conversations centered around Nolan, what happened to him, and why his story is so heartbreaking.
For reference, our children have grown up in schools where they are the minority. They have built beautiful friendships, and we are surrounded by amazing families. But the conversation about differences must still exist.
I know it is unnerving that in 2026 we are still having conversations about race in these terms. But because of the current temperature of the country, these conversations must happen.
We tell our children that, in certain situations, their reactions may be measured differently than those of their white counterparts. We tell them that, in certain situations, you are the company you keep—but we also have to acknowledge that people may judge you differently because of the color of your skin.
These are conversations I am sure Nolan’s parents had with him, too.
In the wake of Nolan’s passing, there have been many think pieces from white women reiterating that white women must talk to their children about Nolan Wells. And in true allyship, I believe we all must talk about Nolan Wells.
This is not a partisan issue.
This is a parenting issue.
This is a humanity issue.
We have to talk to our children about the world they are growing up in—not the world we wish they lived in. We have to teach them how to be kind, but we also have to teach them how to recognize when something isn’t right. We have to teach them to stand up for their friends, to speak up when they see injustice, and to understand that someone’s humanity should never be determined by the color of their skin.
We also have to be honest with them.
We cannot tell our children that the world is always fair when history—and sometimes their own experiences—tell them otherwise. We cannot tell them that everyone will see them exactly as we see them. And we cannot be afraid to have the uncomfortable conversations simply because we wish our children did not need to hear them.
Because our children are listening.
They are watching how we respond to tragedy. They are watching whether we speak up when someone else’s child is hurting. They are learning from the conversations we have around our dinner tables, in our cars, and in those quiet moments when they ask us questions we wish we didn’t have to answer.
Nolan was someone’s son.
He was someone’s friend.
He was someone’s teammate.
He was someone’s baby.
And that should be enough for all of us to care.
We may never know every answer surrounding what happened to Nolan. We may never be able to make sense of the heartbreak his family is experiencing. But we can choose what we do with the questions his story leaves behind.
We can talk.
We can listen.
We can teach.
We can pay attention.
And most importantly, we can make sure our children understand that every child deserves to come home.
So as we send our babies back to school this year, let’s talk to them about grades and goals, football and friendships, college and careers.
But let’s also talk about Nolan Wells.
Because if we truly believe that all of our children matter, then we all must be willing to talk about all of our children.
