The line was long but moved swiftly. Armed with three salads, small fry, and a large cup of ice from Chick-fil-a, I was in heaven. At the stoplight, while jamming to Megan Thee Stallion Savage Remix ft. Beyonce I looked to my right and noticed a white male who appeared to be around 16 or 17 in a BMW two-seater with the top down blasting his music enjoying french fries. I smiled and refocused on traffic. A couple of seconds later I glanced over again, this time placing my son in the driver seat of that BMW two-seater with the top down blasting his music and my smile turned into sadness. With my son behind the steering wheel, I knew there was a chance that once the light turned green, with his beautiful brown skin glowing under the rays of sunshine and the BMW emblem standing out more than his character, that his joy ride would be cut short by red and blue sirens screaming behind him. Pulled over. Automatically judged by the thing that made him beautiful but also a threat. Knowing how things can escalate quickly when a black man in America is pulled over for driving while black, my heart sunk. Tears filled my eyes. I lowered the radio and refocused on traffic again. When the light officially turned green, I drove away with the young white male in his BMW two-seater blasting his music in my rearview mirror. I thought to myself that he and his french fries would most likely make it home safely unbothered by the police. I can’t say the same would happen for my son.
Last night I cried thinking about George Floyd crying out for his mother. I cried even more thinking about if that was my son crying out for me before taking his last breaths. It’s heavy. Heavier than anything God would give me to carry. But I’ve been carrying it in a way that a mother carries her newborn child. Close. Really close. But it was doing more harm than good so I decided that I was not going to perpetuate the heartbreak, sadness, and anger engulfing the world any longer but instead choose to be a beam of light and tower of strength. I want to find a way to have meaningful conversations with my six-year-old son and make them stick in a way so that he is aware of the injustices and oppression but still proud to be black and live his life in the same manner. It’s important for him to know that although there are people in the world who would rather see him down and out, there is also a God bigger than any situation he will ever face in his lifetime. This is the responsibility of a black mother in America, to teach her children to keep going even in the face of adversity.
With love,
S.
“The Lord is a shelter for the oppressed, a refuge in times of trouble.” Psalm 9:9
