Beyond Our Limits: Giving Black Children Access to Experiences We Never Had

Last Updated on October 16, 2026 by Successful Black Parenting Staff

By Aaron Tinch

One of the greatest responsibilities of Black parenting is finding and curating opportunities that give our children exposure and access. We want them to see more, experience more, and imagine more for themselves. Yet creating those opportunities can force us, as parents, to confront something uncomfortable: our own limitations. Sometimes, giving our children access means taking them places we have never been, introducing them to experiences we have never had, and trusting them to enter spaces we do not completely understand.

I came face-to-face with this reality at the bottom of the slopes at Massanutten Resort. I decided that if my daughters were going to experience skiing and snowboarding, I should try it too. Without going into all the details and preserving a little of my dignity, I was not successful at either one. 

“One of the greatest responsibilities of Black parenting is finding and curating opportunities that give our children exposure and access.”

Meanwhile, I watched my eight-year-old daughter, whom I call “Y”, come fearlessly down the slope. There was just one problem: Y apparently had little interest in using the brakes. She came barreling down the hill and eventually crashed into a netted fence. There I was, her father, desperately trying to figure out how to get my skis off fast enough to reach her. Before I could rescue her, she got up smiling, brushed herself off, and scurried away, ready to head back up the slope.

She didn’t need me to conquer the mountain for her. She needed me to give her access to it.

That lesson became even clearer through my twelve-year-old daughter, whom I call “Z Brooke.” This past January and February, she spent six Sundays snowboarding with Black Ski, Inc. I was nervous the first Sunday I dropped her off. She didn’t know anyone going on the trip. Every protective instinct in me could have provided a reason why she shouldn’t go.

Z Brooke, however, had no such reservations. She bopped onto that bus without giving me a second thought. Sunday after Sunday, she returned home talking about what a wonderful experience she was having. She was developing skills, gaining confidence, meeting people, and becoming comfortable in a recreational space where Black children have historically had less exposure and access.

Then came a moment that showed me that exposure is about much more than an activity. In March, Z Brooke and I were walking into a swim meet when I noticed two Black boys approaching us. They were gesturing toward each other, and one pointed in my daughter’s direction. When they got close enough, one of the boys asked her what she was doing there.

Z Brooke casually responded, “I told you I swim.” She later explained that she had met him while snowboarding. Think about that for a moment. Two Black children encountered each other on a snowboard slope and then again at a swim meet.

For me, the beauty and power of access and exposure were suddenly magnified. These young people were discovering that they did not have to be confined to one activity, one environment, or someone else’s expectations of where Black children belong. They could snowboard. They could swim competitively. They could walk into spaces where people who look like them may still be underrepresented and know, without apology, I belong here too. That is why exposure matters. 

As Black parents, we understandably parent from our experiences. We teach what we know. We warn our children about dangers we have encountered. We introduce them to places where we have felt comfortable. But if we are not careful, our experiences can become the boundaries of our children’s world.

I could have allowed my inability to ski or snowboard to limit my daughters’ opportunities. I could have decided that because I was unfamiliar with these activities, they didn’t need to participate. I could have allowed my nervousness about sending my daughter somewhere without knowing anyone to become her reason for staying home.

Instead, I am learning that sometimes good parenting requires us to say, “I don’t know how to do this, but I will make sure you have the opportunity to learn.” Our children do not have to inherit all our limitations.

Black parents have always found ways to create possibilities for our children, often while navigating systems that were not designed with them in mind. That work continues. We don’t have to be experts in every space our children enter. Sometimes our job is simply to find the door, open it, and encourage them to walk through it.

And when they go farther than we ever could, we should not see that as evidence of our limitations. We should see it as evidence that our parenting worked.