The things that bring us the most happiness also bring us the most pain.
Little black boys are rays of sunshine and little black girls are breaths of fresh air.
Such joy I get from their laughter.
And, torment from their cries.
Where we’re from it’s always cloudy without the social, economic and political advantages of white privilege. Rain is just over the mountain, always on its way.
This week when I looked into the eyes of our children, I saw rain.
Underneath their laughter, I saw pain.
It was the reflection of my eyes, in theirs, looking back at me.
I’d heard about our missing girls and boys from DC early on in the week. And, every single day as I looked at a student, I wondered what it’d be like to no longer hear their voice.
I can’t compare the love of a child that I’ve conceived to the love of the children that I’ve taught, as I’ve not participated in the miracle of the former. But, I’d hope to think that they’d be about the same.
The power of the media is unprecedented. And, many of the numbers of reported girls and boys missing are (allegedly) false.
Whatever the rhetoric, whether the number of missing children is that of the past week or the past decade – the fact remains:
Black bodies have been stolen for hundreds of years and during slavery black babies were removed from the care of their enslaved mothers as early as 12 months.
Here we are, 2017 – still enslaved, and still having our bodies and those of our children snatched.
Like crabs in a barrel, Julia says, we’re struggling trying to keep up. Fighting and fussing over each other trying to make due.
So, on my happiest days, I’m still weary.
Sometimes when everyone is laughing, I pause and think about the clouds.
Until the systemic barriers that we face on a regular basis are dismantled, it’ll always be cloudy.
On the bright side, I’m so happy to have hundreds of rays of sunshine and hundreds of breaths of fresh air.