I'm not trying to be smug
And it's not that I don't care
It's just that it's all been said
Time And Time Again
The question remains
What do we do
My 15 year old son
My African American son
My African American Teenage son
Called me last night
And we talked
About stuff
And it was good
And my love for HIM
Grew Deeper
Surprising me
For it had already been the deepest thing I'd ever known
We talked about
Police
We talked about
Being aware
We talked about
The white neighborhood where he lives
We talked
We talked about
His girlfriend
And football camp
We talked about his job
We talked
"Police"
"Be aware"
"Live"
And we hung up
And I was left
Grateful
And Fearful
And sad
For my son
My African American Teenage Son
Lives in a world
Where he will never be allowed
To just be.
Wow! What could be thought of as a simple conversation has such a profound and deeper meaning. I've shared information and instruction while doing my best not to convey my fears.
ReplyDeleteIt's a balancing act. It's an act of love and protection. I'm reminded of the first time we had to talk about race and skin color. We were living in Glendale, CA and I took him to a playground where, upon arriving, the couple of families who were already there took their kids away when my son went over to play with them on the swings. He was so fearless and friendly and open, but was left confused and hurt when the kids (who were white) were whisked away. He asked me, 'why?' and I told him. He was 2 years old. I sometimes wish I hadn't, but I've always tried to be honest with him. He's fine. Eyes open. I pray.
DeleteIt is now three years later. Things are not any better for us. My love remains. My fear remains. My love remains. My fear remains. Mylovefearlovefearlovefearlovefearlovefearlovelovelovelovelove...
ReplyDelete