This book was a terrifying reminder of my own personal incompetence. 
 This review might get a little personal; if that's not for you, then yes, the book is amazing, read it. Check out one of my other reviews for weird monster trivia and funny gifs. Try this one; it's got a crab flying a helicopter. 
 In any case . . . 
 Due to infertility issues, my wife and I can't produce a child. Being as childish as we are, we have a strong desire to be parents, so we're fostering. The plan is to one day adopt whichever child is allowed to stay in our life. 
 When we started, we had agreed that the kid's ethnicity wouldn't matter. There are states and agencies where you can literally say that you won't take kids of a certain skin color. Neither of us considered that for a second. She's a foster kid and I'm adopted; we felt we couldn't turn away any child in need. 
 Then, as parts of the nation who were previously ignorant of the ongoing national parade of gunshot black teenagers became more aware, I started to fear for my potential son or daughter. Articles started to circulate throughout the blogosphere about "The Talk," the traditional conversation African American families have with their children about dealing with police and authority while being black in American. 
 And I suddenly realized something. Holy shit. Since my future children may be black, I, a Caucasian man, may be responsible for giving The Talk. 
 I read many articles about The Talk, but I could never turn those list of advice into a coherent picture in my mind. When "Between the World and Me" popped up on the library recommendation feeds, I jumped on it. Here, finally, was a complete transcript of The Talk. Now I could try to prepare myself for that potential future. 
 So I read the book. 
 At times, I had to lower it and stare at the wall for a while. 
 I now know better. I could never give The Talk. I could never summon the poetic wellspring of emotion, history, and anecdotes that Coates draws upon to paint this terrifying yet complex picture of the relationship between African Americans and their country. It's a brilliant, moving book that should be mandated in every high school in the country, and it makes me know just how out of my depth I am, how absolutely foolish and presumptuous I was. 
 And yet, I still might be a white man responsible for raising a black child in 21st century America. 
 If I am, the only way I can due my due diligence is to hand my child a copy of this book and tell them to read as if their life depends on it. Because it might.