Letter to my 3-year-old boy

grayscale photo of boy wearing st louis cap
Photo by Sarah Gastelum on Pexels.com

 

My son’s so young, and tiny
And I cuddle up,hug and love on him now while he’s still small enough to fit in my arms.
Still small enough to be under the radar, small enough just to be my boy.
Because you see in 10 years I’ll spend more time on my knees with scripture filled hands and sneaking holy oil seeped fingers on his head as he sleeps.
I won’t have time for soft moments and cuddle sessions.
Training camp will begin, I’ll have to teach him what it means when you’re a black man.
He will probably tell his friends I’m crazy when he hears jumbled prayers falling from my lips as his backside is turned to me.
And I’ll spend more time worrying about him being out in the streets instead of enjoying the peace of a quiet home.
I’ll more than likely try to talk him into going to a college around “your folks” so I can keep an eye on him.
But the sad truth is I can’t protect him.
Until I’m looking Jesus in the face
In America, my son ain’t safe
I’ll pray now and kiss his small cheeks while I can
And when he sees tears in my eyes
I’ll tell him it’s my contacts.
Because my son’s to small to understand
That even though he’s innocent
He was born a marked man.

 

  • I wrote this right after Trayvon Martin was killed and racially fueled killings begin to take place. It’s an awful feeling as a mother to know your child will always have a target on their back no matter how you raise them.

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