Not My Son

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It's the first shooting of a black man that has hit the news since we brought our beautiful son home. These instances used to infuriate me, now they terrify & grieve me so very deeply.

Because y'all... Not my son.

I'm not going to let him become a statistic without a fierce fight. And we all pick our battles... And for the record, this will forever be mine because...

Not my son.

And let me start with this... I love our police officers. It doesn't have to be either/or. I can love an organization and still say THIS IS WRONG AND HAS TO STOP. Police friends, those of you who love and serve our communities well and are fighting hard for racial reconciliation within our cities... Thank you. For those of you within who are saying THIS HAS TO STOP... Thank you. You are loved and supported, and we stand with you.

But y'all, as I hold my baby boy, my heart is raw because I know exactly what many of our white friends will say and as I look deep into my son's chocolate eyes I know it falls incredibly short.

I know the justifying of this behavior, the assumption that the fault lies with the dead, the attitude of "well if he wasn't doing _____ he wouldn't be dead," is the VERY belief system that fuels implicit racism. Pretending his blackness wasn't a significant factor in his killing is a belief that can eventually lead my son to death.

And y'all... Not my son.

His life, and all black lives, deserve so much more than that.

It grieves me to know that people will look at my strong black baby boy, and one day will make false assumptions because of his beautiful chocolate skin.

Y'all... Not my son.

It devastates me to think that my baby could be at a gas station, or outside at a park, or walking around our neighborhood and someone yell "he's got a gun!" and despite innocence, he could never come home again.

Not my son.

No more precious Jude smiles around our table. A chair empty. A picture of the twins without their brother.

NOT. MY. SON.Β 

From now, until Jesus returns, the news of black boys and men being beat up, man-handled, and eventually shot and murdered for a crime they didn't commit will forever be a fear of mine...

And y'all... Not my son.

This mama isn't going down without a fight and I believe it starts here, with all of us average folks.

Can you do me a favor today?

White friends, while you're out and about, when you see a black person today, I want you to do a little self-assessment. How did being around them make you feel? What was the first thought that came to mind? If you're alone in an elevator with a black man, what's your response? If their presence made you uncomfortable or fearful or hesitant in any way, can you work on changing that for me? For my son? But also for you? Because if those initial thoughts weren't what you'd hope for, the filter with which you see the world is off, and I'd hate for you to miss out on the beauty that is real and true about our black brothers and sisters.

And if it helps, you can come hold and snuggle the sweetest, easiest baby I've ever had the privilege to parent & I'd gladly talk with you about this. Because change happens when both sides love each other and fight for each other fiercely...

And I'm desperately fighting for change because well...

Not my son.

Posted on July 6, 2016 and filed under Motherhood, Adoption, My boy!.