Since becoming a mother, there have been times I have been plagued with the terror of worry over my son. I've vividly imagined various scenarios in which he is in peril. I have settled on the idea that this is a normal "mother" thing. When he was an infant, I would check his breathing as he slept. Mini movies of him stumbling into danger would play in my mind as I tried to baby proof the house. My heart has skipped a beat as I watched him fall off a chair and couldn't catch him fast enough. I can not fathom the kind of constant inherent danger that is a part of life for young people of color - or know the emotional strain, or tragic grief, of their mothers.
If any of the "privileged" are tired of hearing about it... Try not just hearing about it but also thinking about it, facing it, fearing because of it, waking up with it, going to bed with it, eating with it, sleeping with it, trying to work despite of it, and breathing it in - every waking moment of your life until you breathe no more because of it.
Show some compassion. Out loud. Right now.
Who do I think I Am? I Am privileged enough to speak my mind. I Am somebody's mother. I Am fortunate enough to know the Love of family - some by blood relation, some not - that includes a variety of skin tones. I Am someone who has felt the beauty and warmth of being welcomed into musical families of R&B, Soul, Hip Hop, Reggae and Funk musicians for all of my adult life and career. Friends, loved ones, mentors who have faced unimaginable hatred, prejudice and pain have treated me as a sister without EVER holding any malice toward me. Amazing opportunity and Blessings have come to me through African American people, companies, and organizations. I Am - most importantly and qualifyingly - HUMAN.
His name is George.
I never met him, but he was my brother. He was your brother too.
Love come cover our hearts.
There is a call of duty - for all of us.
Love,
T
