I do not condone the violence, destruction and the looting that has accompanied the protests this week. However, I absolutely support the cause of stopping the undue violence that has been perpetuated on the black community in America by the police. Therefore, this is my peaceful stand. See you tomorrow. I share my prayers for peace for all, and a loving, fair solution to this sad state of affairs, without further escalation of pain for anyone.
It is poetry workshop day, here at Adulting – Second Half. Yesterday was a day of highs and lows. I was thrilled with the successful launch of the space shuttle! Such a nerve-wracking yet exciting, prideful event to watch! Still, my heart felt very heavy with all of the pain our country is going through with these horrible, unjustified killings. I wrote today’s poem, yesterday, from a very emotional place. Please fill my Comments with your poems. It is great release.
For the Love of our Sons
To my sisters who are “mamas” of big, strong, handsome, young black men,
We share the “mama” part, we mamas of sons, but your burdens are greater than mine.
You and I worry about our boys’ health, and opportunities and decisions and loves,
But you also worry that the people who are supposed to protect our boys, might instead
Destroy them.
You have to teach your boys a lesson, I would never even conceive of,
You must teach your sons that they are often considered guilty suspects by their very appearance, and you must teach your sons to be wary of the people who I have casually taught my sons to mostly trust.
Dear mama, my sister in motherhood, my heart aches for you. Being a mother is such a vulnerable position to be in, from the minute we feel our babies growing inside of us,
we love them intensely . . . with everything we have.
You and I are no different in that regard. I know this with my whole, bare heart. Your heart beats for your children, as my heart beats for mine. Do our unveiled hearts look very much the same? I imagine that they do. Love is love.
A mother’s heart brims with Love. An overflowing Love is what a mother’s heart is made of.
But I have less worry, less burden than which you must carry with you every day.
You hold yourself with such dignity and pride and strength and a serene knowing-ness, which I so admire,
Yet I know that I could probably never, ever replicate your beautiful countenance.
Mostly because I’ve never had to try.
You must need that beautiful, intense, impenetrable armor of yours, to shield your heart. But honestly, how much distress can a heart hold before it breaks and shatters and bursts, the lovely, steely container that holds it?
I don’t carry your burdens. I understand that. I know that neither of us should have to carry anything. Our hearts should be light of load, as we carry out the request of the Universe, to nurture our precious sons into manhood.
I don’t carry your burdens. I can never fully understand. I won’t disrespect you, by pretending I know how you feel.
But I can offer you my heart and my hand and my arms to rest in. I can offer you my prayers. I can offer you my careful consideration in all of the choices that I make and the lessons I impart, which help to form this Life which we are all living in. Together.
We are co-creating this world together, all of us, and I want all of our sons to experience the complete fullness that their lives have to offer. This is what uplifts the world. When your son benefits, so does mine. When your heart is light, so is mine.
When your daughters have baby sons, I want your daughters to feel as nonchalant as I do, when teaching her boys about authority figures. I want that lesson to be a minor footnote and not of much concern. I want the beautiful wonderment of life to be the focus of her teachings. Mamas shouldn’t have to teach fear and defensiveness and undue submissiveness to their beloved children.
This outpouring is my long way of saying, please don’t think that I don’t care. I do care. I care very much. I want this sadness, despair and anger and travesty to end. I want this racism to be over now. I want all of our children to experience a life free of racism. I want racism to be thing of dusty history books, an account that is so shocking to our grandchildren, that they can barely comprehend how these injustices existed.
Dear sister in motherhood,
Tell me what I can do to help unload the burden of your pain.
Sincerely signed, a mama of big, strong, handsome, young white men
