As a mother, celebrating my son’s 22nd birthday yesterday was a moment of immense pride. He may no longer be my little boy, but he will forever hold that place in my heart.
The Blessing
From the moment I learned I was pregnant, I envisioned my son. I imagined his features, a blend of my hair and eyes with his father’s athletic physique. I anticipated his playful spirit and knew he would excel in sports, which he undeniably does. However, amid these blessings lies a stark reality; my beautiful son faces challenges simply because he is a Black man.
The Curse
Racism is woven into the fabric of our society, a historical issue that has persisted over centuries, from the horrors of slavery to the tragic violence against Black men today. This reflection isn’t about vilifying law enforcement; I have family and friends who serve in this capacity. My concerns stretch beyond interactions with police to the potential threats he may face from within his own community.
My son, standing 6 feet tall and weighing 230 pounds, is a linebacker for the University of Arkansas at Pine Bluff Golden Lions. He sports dreadlocks and tattoos, but, regrettably, some view him as a threat—not because of his character, but solely due to his skin color. It’s a terrifying reality that makes me think of Philando Castile, Walter Scott, and Charles Kinsey, all of whom faced fatal encounters during routine traffic stops.
The Ride Home
When my son tells me he’s coming home for the weekend, my joy is often shadowed by anxiety. His drive means he’ll be subjected to the harrowing reality of “driving while Black.” The implications are dire. He could be stopped for a minor traffic violation, and before I know it, he could become another headline on social media. I track his journey, aware of the stretch of highway where cell service drops, leaving me in a state of panic if I see his location stalled.
My nephews have imparted crucial wisdom to him on how to navigate a traffic stop. The fear they carry is palpable; they are not criminals, yet they face a constant threat of violence.
All the Other Times
I understand that my son is also at risk within his own community. The violence among Black men can be just as devastating as the external threats they face. It’s heartbreaking to think that mothers grieve over sons lost to senseless disputes, sometimes over trivial matters.
Holding on to His Promise
I can’t be with my son every moment; he is an adult carving out his path in this world. I find solace in my faith, trusting that God will protect him. I keep him and our family in prayer.
The day he was born, on July 26, 1995, was a day of extraordinary blessings. My hope is that he celebrates many more birthdays filled with joy and safety.
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In summary, being a mother to a Black son is a journey filled with both pride and fear. While I celebrate his achievements, I remain acutely aware of the challenges he faces in a world where his skin color can alter perceptions of his character.
Keyphrase: Raising a Black Son
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