If you know me you know that my life, my friendships have not been bound by color. But, I refuse to deny the difference in my fears compared to that of my white friends who have raised or are raising sons. I have daughters but there is a different fear every time my son leaves my presence. That's my chocolate drop who has a smile that will melt your heart and a warrior's spirit. He's a young man. While he still has a lot of growing and maturing to do, God has graced him with a strong sense of himself.
Tell me what am I suppose to do? He gets tired of my endless conversation of watching your environment, if stopped check your attitude,, yada...yada. I grew up in a household where my grandmother and stepfather where Black Muslims. I was a protestor, an advocate growing up. I remember banging on the windows of Allegheny College as we demanded that the trustees divest from South Africa. I co-chaired the Political Actions committee of our Advancement of Black Culture organization. I helped to start the multicultural coalition. My family didn't raise no punks! But every time my son walks out that door - the worry, the sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach.
Why you might ask? Because we live in a world that doesn't value his life! I remember when I was pregnant with him, the summer of 1999. His father and I moved into a suburb area of Cleveland. There was a park across the street from our apartment. One hot, late night his dad decides to walk across the street to the park. Within 5 minutes a couple of police cars pulled up wanting to know why he was in the area and where he was going.
Again you ask why the pit in my stomach? The profiling, the system, the perceptions! I know for a fact that some people see my son as a hoodlum. In 8th grade one of his white teachers told a security guard that she was afraid of him. Really chick? Afraid of boy who has never gotten into trouble beyond the nonsense that boys that age do. But really? So what scared you? His dark skin, the way he carries himself to say that ain't nobody going to mess with him, the swagger in his walk? His confidence at such a young age? What?
Isn’t it bad enough that we live in a society where parents are already worried about their children’s safety, the senseless, non-stop violence! I moved us to a small suburban neighborhood. I am a homeowner! A hardworker! I went to a private school, graduated from college and got my masters! I have taught my children to be respectful to adults, to listen to those with authority. I also taught them that no one was perfect and that even adults make mistakes. Am I wrong? I have especially told him that it was our responsibility, not his, to defend his rights! That’s why I am the parent. Right?
But am I right? Is it okay when he is walking down the street for the police to pull up and tell him to "take his ass home." Oh - but you want us to be respectful to you? If he is approached by the police do you want him to completely devalue himself and – “Uh…yes sir, master...
I am a woman of God and well-educated. So why does world tell my heart that my teenage son, who could easily pass for a young adult, is seen as threat to be taken out!
In Genesis 4:10 God says: “What have you done? The voice of your brother’s blood is crying to Me from the ground."
Make no mistake that this is a spiritual battle! I am my son's keeper. I am my brother's keeper. We are our brothers’ keeper. For the sake of my son and yours, I will no longer be a spectator. I have put on the armor of God. Lord you said if I cry unto You, You will light my path and show me me the way.
My spirit is heavy, my heart aches.
Aba Father, I cry unto you.
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