I wasn’t going to write anything more than a Facebook post because the level of exhaustion I feel this week, this month, these last 75 days can only be described by an old Southern saying “bone-tired”.
I wasn’t going to say anything to you about the world and how it has been orchestrated to kill you from the moment your father and I announced your birth.
I wasn’t going to cry over yet another Black person murdered by the police because I am reserving my grief for later. This week we will say our final goodbyes to your Nana’s earthly shell, and it will not be easy.
I wasn’t going to do any of these things, as I sat in the dark listening to white journalist ask the same questions they asked during the Ferguson uprisings, where and I looked down at you nursing, and screamed like Ruby Dee in Do The Right Thing “BURN IT DOWN! BURN IT DOWN!”.
I wasn’t going to…. but then I looked over and saw the flames of the burning city in your eyes. I saw you questioning this world without saying a word.
In such a short precious time, 7 beautiful years, my Black son you have seen too much. Too much death, too much hurt, too much hatred, too much. And while it pains me to again have to explain the lynching of Black people to you, as your guardian it is my job not to hide it from you. And so I pull you into my arms, I explain again the racist bullshit that plagues this country. I am plain in my words, no baby talk. I remind you that you are loved and that the way to freedom is never peaceful. I remind you of Malcolm, Martin, Assata, Angela, Baldwin, Huey, Fannie Lou, and on and on.
I feel you tense up, as I remind you we are not immune to this hatred, this horror. I remind you to be angry, to find ways to channel this anger back into your community because freedom takes work.
And then I watch as you drift back off to sleep. I allow one tear to roll down my cheek and pull out my laptop.
I wasn’t going to write anything besides a Facebook post because the level of tired I feel this week, this month, these past 75 days can only be described by an old Southern saying “bone tired”