When I was pregnant I worried about a million different things. I worried about my baby’s health, if I was going to figure out motherhood, if we’d be happy, if I was capable of raising a well adjusted child when I didn’t feel like I had my own ish together. I worried and worried. And he was born. And I began to worry a little bit less.
But when you’re a mother the worry never truly goes away. He eats, you worry if he’s eating enough. He coughs, you worry about the flu and other illness. He falls, your heart stops every single time.
All of these worries PALE in comparison to my new found worry. The guilt that I feel today especially for giving birth to my son knowing…. he would be black. My sweet innocent baby is going to have to come face to face with the injustice of our government and on the path we’re on its probably going to be sooner rather than later.
I asked his father today, while #AltonSterling is fresh on everyone’s mind. “What are we going to do? How are we going to tell our innocent baby about the evils of this world?” He attempted to respond …
“We’ll just tell him the truth. When you go out govern yourself accordingly…..”
*I cut him off*
“He doesn’t have to be doing anything wrong… He could just be walking outside”… #TrayvonMartin…. “He could be playing in the park!” #TamirRice
His solution (not a real one LOL)… RJ is never going anywhere lol. When he goes to school he’s going to sleep outside in the car and he’s just never going to go anywhere alone.
In all seriousness though I can’t help but feel a combination of guilt and heartbreak. What do I tell my son the job of the police is? I used to hear “they protect you from the bad guys”, but is a man standing outside of a corner store selling loose cigarettes really a BAD GUY? #EricGarner. Does forgetting to signal and then being frustrated about being disrespected and mistreated when you’re pulled over make you “bad”? #SandraBland
He’ll be dehumanized. They’ll talk about the pack of M&Ms he stole in the fifth grade and the fight he got into with one of his classmates, whether or not they know the full story. It’ll be his fault. The color of his skin automatically makes him a threat. Unapproachable and undeserving of the liberties we fought so hard to supposedly obtain. Thug. Criminal. Aggressive. He’ll be labeled. The saddest part? He doesn’t even have to be an adult anymore. He can be a CHILD. And his life won’t matter.
This is the world I brought my angel into. My little boy who loves to dance, and play. Laugh and run and watch cartoons. Drink juice (nonstop!) and eat pizza. This will one day be his reality. And it breaks my heart. I can’t cry, hope and pray enough. Lord, protect my baby.