Updated: Aug 23, 2020
As Mother's Day comes to a close I wanna give a shout out to all the MOTHERS OF BLACK BOYS.
Who fret about what their boys wear because of how they might be perceived... and how it could result in their murder.
Who, when considering where to move do the research on the city to evaluate how much their chocolate skin is covertly or overtly hated.
Who anguish over how young is too young to have the conversation(s) about the police, about how to always keep their hands visible, speak with a calm and pleasant voice, and to do exactly as their told even if they've done NOTHING WRONG. To then anguish even more in answering the question of, "But why?"
Who toil over which school to place them in, knowing they need - AND DESERVE - the best of education while fighting to be sure their psyche is not broken by a school system, a teacher, a counselor, an advisor who diminishes their dignity by their assumptions and "guidance" toward a second rate existence and a stifled future.
Who labor to build in their boys a deep, unshakable self-love that cannot be dismantled by the cruelty of a society that seeks to raise up their self-hate.
Who seek to build in them a fierce resilience that will kick in every time they are knocked down by the racist ideologies which undergird the systems of this country.
Who don't sleep at night for days or weeks after each and every killing of an unarmed black man, praying their own will not be the next hashtag.
Who pray unceasingly for the white Christian leaders in this nation to realize that Jesus was, indeed, brown, some experts argue Black. So that when they keep doing nothing at the slaughter of young black men they will realize they are doing it to Jesus, Himself.
Who stress over their boys' diets, health, mental distress, living habits, hoping to protect them from one day succumbing to the pandemic of high blood pressure, heart disease, and diabetes in the Black American community as a direct result of the chronic trauma of being black in the U.S..
Who feel the butterflies of fear when their sons lose their temper in here, because we know it could mean the difference between living or dying if they are perceived as an angry black male specimen out there.
Who would give an appendage, even their life, to raise these precious, sacred, irreplaceable treasures in a world where none of this was the case. Where they could grow up with the innocence and carefree-ness that white boys do.
Whose laments of these very things will not be heard with the compassion that mine sometimes will because the very same African heritage that could get their boys killed, THEY SHARE, and will get them scoffed at, dismissed, invalidated, gaslit, destroyed.
I salute you, fellow Mamas. You are sheroes.