On my son’s 20th birthday. And I’m at peace about it.
Old me would’ve been on ten. That feeling of being violated, running the footage back in my head, ready to catch a case over a car window. But I couldn’t get there this morning, and I know exactly why.
Because there’s a family in Mississippi who will never hear their son say good morning again. Never kiss him goodnight. Their 18-year-old, Nolan, went out on a boat on the 4th of July with three of his nonmelanated friends. They came back. He didn’t. His phone made it back to land before he did. He was found unalived on that island two days later.
So no, I’m not crying over a car. My son woke up this morning. Twenty years old. I got to tell him happy birthday with my own mouth. Perspective will humble your problems real quick.
Now while I value experts and expert opinion, here is something I cannot rock with. I’ve watched degreed professionals, PhDs and all, get online and say we shouldn’t tell our Black children to be careful in certain company, that this is a “parenting problem” on the other side. That their parents just need to raise them to respect Black life.
Respectfully… make it make sense. You want me to wait on the very people who’ve shown us how they see us as disposable/expendable to teach their children that my son is human? Wait on that if you want to. While you’re waiting, another family is planning a funeral.
I stopped waiting years ago. I told Skyler a long time ago, watch who you hang around. Not out of hate. Out of history. Because we live under an administration that pardoned January 6th and villainized people who look like my son in the same breath. The legal system doesn’t lean our way. I’m paranoid, I do however understand data and recognize patterns.
This isn’t a parenting problem. It’s a societal one. And if we’re serious about fixing it, then these churches with the fog machines and the spotlights and the rock and roll praise breaks need to preach the humanity of Black people every single Sunday. Our government and community organizations need to hammer it home every single day. Not one sermon in February. Every day.
To Nolan’s mother and family, nothing about your baby’s life invited this. You did nothing wrong. I’m praying for you today while I hug my own son a little longer.
Somebody broke into my car this morning. And all I can think about is how blessed I am that everything precious to me is still here.
We not going back.




















