do it scared
/"You raised your son, black and autistic, in a time when autism was pretty new and ..." I paused. She waited. "Well, how did you do it without being scared all the time?"
She looked at me with compassion, set her hand on mine, and said, "I did it scared. Every day, whenever someone leaves the house, we pray together, because we know it might be the last time."
This older, wiser black friend's words spoke both truth and heartbreak to my soul that morning. Through tears I told her, "It's just so hard." She nodded. We hugged. I went home and cried some more.
no longer surprised
that your black son –
only seven years old –
is labeled thug
(the modern-day replacement
for yesteryear’s “nigger”)
for the same behavior
that your white son –
also seven years old –
isn’t criticized for,
because he’s just
being a boy
after all
then
you are reminded
that the privilege
of being a boy
is part of white privilege too
I grew up the daughter of a Vietnam veteran who returned from the war to devote his career to law enforcement, first in Georgia and then in Florida. I knew how families like ours then prayed for protection for their loved ones, whose lives were at risk for the uniforms they chose, the blue ones they wear every shift.
I didn't know, not until much later, how families like ours now pray for protection for their loved ones, whose lives are at risk for nothing they chose, just the beautiful dark skin they wear every moment of every day.
I still only know any of that to a degree, because when I step out in the world, I'm wearing white skin.
I might be
raising children
who are not
but the reality remains that
I am white
I am a better mom
when I stay in my lane
and listen well
to those who have lived
in my children’s skins
because they are the experts
I am mom
but I am still white
and my whiteness
means I can love
their blackness
but not that I can
ever
fully relate to
the experience
of living in skin
that is anything but
white
Jordan Edwards died this past weekend. Alton Sterling's murderers will not be charged for their crimes, the news just reported. Walter Scott's killer told the truth in court today, which was a spot of bright news except that murder charges were replaced with one federal charge of deprivation of rights under the color of law.
The hashtags keep coming. So does the injustice.
Lord, have mercy.
your skin, hair, lips, noses
are priceless adornments
to your invaluable souls
if the world tells you otherwise
(and they will)
they are the liars
you are the light
and their eyes
are too damn weak
to see all of your radiance
and you
you matter
your beautiful black lives matter
no matter what lies
the world whispers
White friends, please. Listen. Learn. Feel. Break your silence.
Declare with us that this. is. not. okay.
Yes, praying together before leaving home seems like a quaint and admirable practice. But when black families institute this practice because they know any one of them could be a hashtag, white neighbors need to pay attention and then act.
And if you're worried you'll do it wrong, follow the model of my wise black girlfriend and do it scared. (I promise, your fear is nothing compared to hers.)