I didn’t want to do this.
I had no intention on making a Mother’s Day post. No intention on forcing a few hundred words on paper just because it’s a holiday and that’s what bloggers do.
But this one hit different.
Yes, we are home with our children now more than before. We have to be teachers, cafeteria workers and their only friends. It is tiring. It is overwhelming. It is a lot. But there is one thing that makes it bearable.
They are alive.
Being the mother of little black boys that will grow up to black men is…terrifying.
All I want for Mother’s Day is to not have to worry about not being a mother.
In a time when the only thing we can safely do is go outside and exercise alone a black man cannot do that without the fear of being gunned down.
What can I say to my boys? How can I teach them to…just be them? No matter what I tell them to say. No matter what I tell them to do. It doesn’t matter. Depending on who they come into contact with, it may not matter. It will not matter how polite they are. How compliant they are. How right they are.
Another man’s hate will outweigh their innocence.
What is a mother to do? How is she supposed to feel? As tiring as being quarantined with my littles one is, there is the peace in knowing they are safe with me. There will come a day when they will be old enough to go out on there own. Drive to a friend’s house. And what should be a celebration of independence will turn into the start of a Mother’s constant worry. A fear that will never go away.
Our children are more than hashtags. They are more than the candlelight vigils and balloon releases. They are beautiful human beings that deserve to be treated as such. That deserve to grow up and live to their fullest potential.