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Washington Post

‘Forever' is supposed to be a teen romance. So why are Black moms obsessed?

The messages in my mom group chat kept multiplying. First there were 10 unreads. Then 12. Now 20. What episode are you on? Catch up! When can we discuss? Cocktails! We were all suddenly and unexpectedly hooked on 'Forever,' the Netflix teen romance adapted by executive producer Mara Brock Akil from the 50-year-old Judy Blume novel of the same name. Brock Akil had already painted the fullness of the Black experience on TV in both multi-cam sitcoms ('Girlfriends,' 'The Game') and hour-long dramas ('Being Mary Jane,' 'Love Is __'). Her shows offer dimension and something to chew on. It's no surprise that her sumptuous take on 'Forever' is teeming with Black life. What was surprising was how 'Forever' — a story known for tackling love and sex from two teens' perspectives — snuck up on us. We're middle-aged mamas after all. We should've been getting precious sleep that Thursday in May when the show dropped, not bingeing until 2 a.m. But hidden inside the show's meet-cute plot was an emotional snare rigged specifically for Black mothers. Set in Los Angeles in 2018, 'Forever' follows high-schoolers Keisha (Lovie Simone) and Justin (Michael Cooper Jr.) as they trip into a first love that's confusing, all-consuming and life-changing. But what continues to spark discussions among the Black women I talked to wasn't the drama between those star-crossed lovers from the opposite sides of the 10 freeway. No, they focused on the mothers of 'Forever' — particularly Justin's 'catastrophic' parent, Dawn, who reared her children from a place of fear, protection and a deep love that so many in my mom group recognized. For them, watching Dawn (Karen Pittman), an upper-class Black mother trying to safely and successfully launch her child into adulthood while navigating the meteors of adolescence and the minefield of being a Black man in America, was a gut check. It was like looking into an iPhone camera and a crystal ball, the images familiar and a little fear-inducing too. Is that what I really look like? Sound like? ''Forever' is hitting me hard,' messaged one friend, whose son is on the cusp on puberty. Another was particularly moved by 'how our dreams for our children and for who they will be can become their biggest challenges and obstacles,' she wrote. Others saw themselves in Dawn as the mother of neurodiverse son, an athlete, a child raised in privilege they didn't have. 'When I tell you I'm this mama!!!' texted another friend. When we first meet Dawn, she establishes herself as a mother who is 'not one of your little friends.' It's New Year's Eve and Justin wants to go to a party. But Dawn, husband Eric (Wood Harris) and their younger son already have family game night set up. Draped in a silk robe and holding court at their kitchen island, she grills Justin about this 'party' like a prosecutor: Was he invited specifically? Where is it? Who all's going to be there? Blank stare. 'No information, no party,' says Dawn, emphasizing her stance with a 'not gonna happen' hand slice across her neck. 'We got cops out here shooting Black boys like it's open season and I'm tripping?' Dawn says incredulously. Justin argues that some of his fancy private-school classmates don't even come home on the weekend. Dawn fires back that they're mostly White and he is most definitely not. The conversation devolves. Justin gets sent to his room, where eventually Eric, the straight-talking dad, throws his son a lifeline with some conditions. But the lines are drawn. Dawn's boundaries are clear. She isn't budging when it comes to her son. Why were we gobsmacked? It's not as if Black mothers haven't been fixtures on mainstream television, from Julia Baker ('Julia') to Rainbow Johnson ('Black-ish'). They've been single, married, widowed, poor, bougie, homemakers, doctors, lawyers and English professors. Sure, there have been a handful of Black TV mothers who occupy a particular social stratum on the small screen — married, professional, outspoken. Clair Huxtable of 'The Cosby Show,' to start. But Dawn — with her elite degree, quiet-luxury closet and type-A kung-fu grip on her son's future — felt familiar to us but distinct on TV. Not because of her CV (but there was that), but because her brand of parenting was so uniquely tied to her identity as a Black woman raising a Black son in America today. She isn't a Clair or an Aunt Viv or a Rainbow. 'Those characters feel real, but they also feel like a TV show, right?' sociologist Mia Brantley said. 'When you watch Dawn, there's a realistic aspect to her. I see my friends. I see my own mother. And now that I am preparing for motherhood I see parts of myself. I see conversations me and my spouse are having about raising a son.' The obstacles Black children and the parents raising them (particularly the mothers who still in 2025 take on the lion's share of the emotional labor) can't be resolved in three acts and three commercial breaks. 'There's a realistic nature to the way these conversations are being depicted. These conversations are messy,' said Brantley, who should know: An assistant professor at North Carolina State University, she researches Black mothering in the United States, particularly how women imbue their children with their own racial identity. Brantley said Dawn's heightened concern regarding Justin's physical (and emotional) safety could have been pulled directly from a chapter in her forthcoming book, 'Mothering on the Defense,' which examines the long-term affects that the stress of raising Black children can cause their parents. But the hypervigilance is understandable, Brantley said. The overprotectiveness that flat-out avoids milestones such as getting a driver's license or staying out past midnight is rooted in love. 'Mara did an amazing job of depicting what reality is like for Black parents,' Brantley said. Brittany Packnett Cunningham, an activist and mother of two, saw herself in both Dawn and Justin. 'Black upper-middle-class children are raised really tightly,' said Packnett Cunningham, who grew up in St. Louis attending predominantly White schools but whose parents did the 'extra work' of making sure she was rooted in African American culture. She had a stricter curfew than her White peers. The idea of a gap year? Pfft. The only colleges on the table were elite institutions. Once Packnett Cunningham started watching 'Forever,' she couldn't stop. Soon she texted her husband, Reggie, 'I need you to see this.' 'Forever' put a bullhorn behind the common conversations happening in living rooms in Baldwin Hills, Shepherd Park and Park Slope — about the pitfalls of sending Black children to mostly White schools, tasking your child with being 'undeniable' despite knowing how impossible that is, the adultification of Black girls, the genuine excitement that your Black son is dating a Black girl, all the specific anxieties that only Black mothers experience. 'There's just so much there about how our villages function for our children. To be able to access a story about that as a parent and as someone who was once young, dumb and in love is a really special thing,' Packnett Cunningham said. 'So much of this writing is just healing people,' she said. 'I'm prepared to watch is as many times as it takes me to get what I need from it.' Meanwhile, Pittman — Dawn herself — has seen your DMs, the good and the bad. She's gotten so many notes from women who love the character that the veteran actress is thinking of putting 'I am Dawn' on a T-shirt. (Among my mom group, she'd have some buyers.) 'Even if we don't always agree with what Dawn does, we do look at her and we think, 'Gosh, I understand,'' Pittman said. 'I'm deeply compassionate, where this woman is concerned. I know why she's making every choice she's making. I have a very serious take on her. I have a very deeply felt take.' Yes, Pittman has kids, including an adult son. What kind of mom does she think Dawn is? In show, the character says she's been told she has a 'catastrophic parenting style. I damn near have a panic attack if my child wears a hoodie.' But off screen Pittman struggled to define Dawn's mothering, which can be as soft as it is sharp. When Justin needs a mental health day, she recognizes it instantly and gives him space. And when he's shirking on his college application? She lectures him on being 'undeniable.' 'She appears to be very antagonistic in the story,' Pittman said. 'She presents as the villain. She must be, you know, heavy in the role. Her behavior must be much more … angular?' 'Elbows out?' I suggested. 'She's elbows out! And she has to be, you know. Dawn is the supervillain. And that's a steep fall to go, from the superhero to the supervillain,' Pittman said, explaining from her own experience what it's like to parent a young man versus a little boy. Your child's perception of you shifts. 'I'm telling you it's painful,' the actress added. Pittman, who is a series regular on 'The Morning Show' and appeared in the first two seasons of 'And Just Like That,' had been waiting for a role like Dawn. She wanted to play a very specific kind of mother. Not one who's marginalized in the plot, or limited to setting up punch lines for the funnier dad. 'We've been nestled behind our husbands as Black woman on American television, to support them and support the kids. But this character elbows her way to the front, you know what I mean?' For the actress, Dawn isn't alone in the cultural zeitgeist as a professional and outspoken Black mother — she contains some Ketanji Brown Jackson, some Michelle Obama. To that point, Pittman is also very interested in those other DMs she gets, from folks criticizing her character — she's way too aggressive, she's not submissive to her husband, she's racist because Dawn wants her son to date a Black girl. Obviously Karen is not Dawn, but she'll accept that award thank you very much. 'I feel like we could actually be having a cocktail talking about this,' Pittman said when we spoke. Funny she should say that. The same week Netflix announced 'Forever' would get a second season, the thread of the mom group chat was getting too long to read. We needed to process in person, so we congregated one Friday night after putting our kids to bed to process together until the wee hours. Of course our hostess had notes and talking points, and we kicked off what would turn into a late-night conversation by naming our favorite characters. We couldn't all say Dawn. But she was in the room with us, snacking on prosciutto and grapes, because we felt she was us. That was Pittman's goal. 'I want you to just lean in,' she told me, 'and before you know it you see you.'