A Letter to My Son

I pulled you out of the darkness that I knew into a place of rampant color in an attempt to shield you from the harshness of the world in which you live. From landscapes of brick to where trees crowded one’s view. So, I raised you outside of the city. I wanted time and a safe place to tell you about all the things that I’d known of, like the hate for beautiful souls that resemble you. To tell you the stories that my elders told me and to spoon feed you literary greatness penned by those who so eloquently experienced the obsidian truth. I did everything in my power to prepare you and, though you are an adult now, each day I still do. Yet even in my efforts, I had to come to terms with that fact that you may never be truly ready to feel or understand the completeness of that first blow, nor the third or tenth to follow. And though I’ve tried, I’ll never truly know how that experience may reshape the preparedness I fought for with such diligence to instill in you.

You stand at the crest of greatness with the heavens and earth alike at the ready and prepared to obey and yield to the power within you, yet these forces hold true in their insatiable desire to destroy you. With every fiber of my existence, with every distinct word chosen from my extensive mental library of literature, stories heard, research performed, and experiences had, I am not enough to shelter you from . . .

I am not enough.

Though this is painfully evident, because I birthed you, I can’t stand down regarding my need to protect you from both the randomness of wrong place, wrong time when some white dude with an issue (no matter if mental, political or whatever) decides to take out children, women and men minding their business in a classroom [innocents, they keep killing our future], in the movies [enjoying a much-needed reprieve from life’s hardships], at church [praising, worshipping and honoring God], at a concert [dancing their cares away] or at their jobs [making a living to care for their families]; as well as that unfounded, pointless institutionalized  and systemic disdain that courses through the veins of this country and blindly sights a target where your beautiful, Black face is. So many of our people keep falling by hands of those who supposedly uphold the laws that are derivatives of this country’s sins.  The fear of international terrors coming to our doorstep severely pales in comparison to what’s happening here at home every day, everywhere. How can a parent not fall into the absolute trenches of fear every moment that their child is in the world just trying to live a good life? How?

Then there was that first blow. Or, at least, that I know of. You were wrongfully profiled in high school by a security guard who was convinced that your appearance was indicative of drug selling and approached you on the matter. Never once had he glanced at the privileged, preppy kid who was, in fact, the dealer. Then there was that time, in an Uber — in a fucking Uber — you were racially profiled. Riding while Black [as a backseat passenger in, again I say it, an Uber]. Suspected of robbery. I’m sure there are so many more, and the thought of each sets my blood boiling.

Don’t they know that you have a heart of gold! Don’t they know that, as a kid, you advocated for and befriended bullied children. You protected them! Don’t they know that you are an amazing artist! Don’t they know that you work hard every single day to make your dreams come true — the legit way! Don’t they know that you are breathtaking! Don’t they know that we need you!

We need you. All of you.

You are our tomorrow and future. You carry culture, knowledge, and truth in your breath. The foundations upon which this country, this world must later stand is being built by the treads left by the soles of your feet, the fruits of your intellect and the blessings of your gifts. Why can’t they understand that being woke is a necessity of progress? That much of what our youth displays now is indicative of the change necessary to knock down those blasphemous racial and homophobic pillars upon which this country was built. The canons of privilege and those poisoned by them are still many and widespread. Some boast proudly, some display so through jokes, some attempt to keep it under wraps. Some, don’t even know that that’s who they are because they have Black friends.

My blessing? You know who you are. You know who’s you are. Never forget. Keep striving for greatness. Remember those who could not. Say his name. Say her name. One of the greatest things that you can do amidst all of this, is be absolutely everything that they do not want you to become. They are afraid. You are an educated, talented and gifted man. You have your youth, your health and an insatiable drive to rise. You are a good person. And you are gloriously Black. I love you.

© 2018 Stephani E. D. McDow

“Our Sons” artwork copyrighted and created by Nicole Marrow Summers