The Real Issue

I feet incredibly sad about yesterday.  It seems whenever I am presented with crisis or a pending confrontation, my past starts flooding back to me with incredible speed.  It's like standing on the beach and having a huge wave wash over you.  It used to knock me down. But, as I grow now, I am able to withstand the force, I stumble but am with some determination able to gain my barings and wait for the next wave. (For the first half of my life, these waves always caught me by surprise).  Maybe the next one won't be as strong...Maybe it will be stronger...Who knows? I wiil remain standing.

It reminds me of my childhood.  The loneliness insecurity and fear that I often felt.  The monster under the bed taunting and threatening me.

I have fooled myself into thinking that I was enough for my children, even though in my adult life, I have often felt inadequate and empty.  I don't feel as empty these days, but I often feel inadequate.  Sometimes, I think that it's because I am still waiting for that approval from my mom or society as a whole.

What does this have to do with my eight year old son? If I buy into the statistics about african american males and their lot in this country... alot.  I'm often congratulated when I tell people that my oldest son is in college. "Do you know how lucky you are?", they ask. I asked one person, "Why does that make me lucky?"  You raised an African American male? and he's in college? You should be proud she responded. You'd think that she was talking about someone from a poverty stricken country. 

The statistics concerning the life span of African American males, haunts me.  If they live past the age of 25 this is cause for celebration. 

That is part of the monster under the bed that stands over me in the morning, with his arms folded looking down on me, challenging me and saying, "Okay, what are you going to do about this now?"
What can I do to keep either of my young son from becoming a statistic?
I will continue to encourage him  and pray.  I will continue to impress upon him the importance of having an education, not just for an African American male, but for  anyone who wants to make a decent living and especially an African American male.

I will continue to learn about myself and teach him what I learn, and stress to him the importance of learning about himself.

My young son has a personality of his own.  If he can orchestrate a lie to avoid doing his homework --and he did do this-- knowing that it was wrong.  He can certainly take on the responsibility of writing his homework down, bringing it home and doing it.

I remember being a stubborn child.  I had two parents who could have dropped the Rock of Gibraltar on my head to keep me from doing something that I felt entitled to do.  I would have crawled from under it and proceeded with my plans. 

My young son is me reincarnated.

That's where my real fear lies.