I study parenting. Whenever I do a workshop, I ask a parent what exactly it means to be a parent. I have never, repeat, NEVER heard a mom say, "Oh, I want my son to be feared. I hope that I can never look him in the face again. I pray that he has is so uncared for and neglected by society that it will just make me beam."
And yet, that's exactly what we've done for our black sons.
America has been a baaaddddd mother. She stole our black son from another country (well, several other countries...all huddled together under their mother, Africa). She forced our black son to work when she didn't require that of another son of hers. The prized son. The son she reserves all of her hopes, dreams, and aspirations for. No - she thought that working hard would make her black son strong and an excellent source of income.
She didn't anticipate that he would become so strong that she would end up fearing her own child.
She became afraid of our black son the moment she realized he was more powerful than she could ever be.
But she had something going for her. You know when a mother says something, it becomes law. So mother America, in all of her infinite wisdom, created systematic laws that changed the way our son would be welcomed into social circles, if admitted at all, and allowed to interact with her other children. These differences caused such great strife in our black son's life that he had to develop ways to cope with the psychological stressors in front of him.
Ironically, some of her other sons found our black son's style to be so influential that they attempted to mock him at every turn. But there was one thing they could never replicate - his mind.
There was never a moment when our black son forgot he was black. While others were able to decry his color - suggesting he was equal to everyone else - he knew otherwise. Afterall, it was his own mother who told him that he was not good enough to be with other children. That in order for him to be worth anything, he'd have to fit into a mold that has perpetuated the existence of his brothers before him. That to be credible in his own neighborhood, he would have to look like others just to make it out alive.
Or so he thought.
Our black son was coming back from the store. It was raining. Our black son took shortcuts through the neighborhood. It was raining. Someone spotted our black son. The black son who has been labeled as a misfit, a thug, a thief, a rapist, a vile monster was walking through America's backyard. That's a no-no because he doesn't have rights to this land. He is only a visitor - and no - not on his own accord. We have to stop this foreigner from invading our land.
Our black son was followed, and stalked, and assaulted. Our black son fought back, because we have taught our sons to be resilient and to not be a punk. Our black son's life was weighed against the other son's...whose was more valuable? Who had the right to live? The answer was clear - it had to be the chosen one. The child afforded privilege and access to mother America. The child who was so afraid of our black son that taking his life was the only way to win the battle against this disparaged sibling.
Our black son was dead.
Our black son was hated by his mother, the mother who made him who he was. A mother who now has the chance to rectify her wrongs and say she was sorry. Not just for him. But for all the black sons she has left to fend for themselves in this barren foreign land full of contradictions and prohibitions.
Our black sons deserve more. They deserve a mother who wants nothing but the best for them. Father God has given all He can. I only wonder...can mother America ever stop fearing her sons?
And yet, that's exactly what we've done for our black sons.
America has been a baaaddddd mother. She stole our black son from another country (well, several other countries...all huddled together under their mother, Africa). She forced our black son to work when she didn't require that of another son of hers. The prized son. The son she reserves all of her hopes, dreams, and aspirations for. No - she thought that working hard would make her black son strong and an excellent source of income.
She didn't anticipate that he would become so strong that she would end up fearing her own child.
She became afraid of our black son the moment she realized he was more powerful than she could ever be.
But she had something going for her. You know when a mother says something, it becomes law. So mother America, in all of her infinite wisdom, created systematic laws that changed the way our son would be welcomed into social circles, if admitted at all, and allowed to interact with her other children. These differences caused such great strife in our black son's life that he had to develop ways to cope with the psychological stressors in front of him.
Ironically, some of her other sons found our black son's style to be so influential that they attempted to mock him at every turn. But there was one thing they could never replicate - his mind.
There was never a moment when our black son forgot he was black. While others were able to decry his color - suggesting he was equal to everyone else - he knew otherwise. Afterall, it was his own mother who told him that he was not good enough to be with other children. That in order for him to be worth anything, he'd have to fit into a mold that has perpetuated the existence of his brothers before him. That to be credible in his own neighborhood, he would have to look like others just to make it out alive.
Or so he thought.
Our black son was coming back from the store. It was raining. Our black son took shortcuts through the neighborhood. It was raining. Someone spotted our black son. The black son who has been labeled as a misfit, a thug, a thief, a rapist, a vile monster was walking through America's backyard. That's a no-no because he doesn't have rights to this land. He is only a visitor - and no - not on his own accord. We have to stop this foreigner from invading our land.
Our black son was followed, and stalked, and assaulted. Our black son fought back, because we have taught our sons to be resilient and to not be a punk. Our black son's life was weighed against the other son's...whose was more valuable? Who had the right to live? The answer was clear - it had to be the chosen one. The child afforded privilege and access to mother America. The child who was so afraid of our black son that taking his life was the only way to win the battle against this disparaged sibling.
Our black son was dead.
Our black son was hated by his mother, the mother who made him who he was. A mother who now has the chance to rectify her wrongs and say she was sorry. Not just for him. But for all the black sons she has left to fend for themselves in this barren foreign land full of contradictions and prohibitions.
Our black sons deserve more. They deserve a mother who wants nothing but the best for them. Father God has given all He can. I only wonder...can mother America ever stop fearing her sons?
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