no one would believe #nowb

…this is so cliché but fuck it….I never planned to be a mom. I didn’t really like babies, especially the crying type. I was always the nurturer though. In middle school, a few friends called me “Momma”, but I never heard my biological clock ticking, chiming, dinging….any of that. I was living my best single life and hadn’t planned to change that in the foreseeable future.

Picture it…a hot and sunny day in June 2001. BOOM! Puzzle pieces (that I didn’t know existed) fell into place to don me with the title of Mom, Mommie, Mother, Mah, and now, Bruh.

Shortly after my son was born, it hit me like a ton of bricks that I was a black woman, married to a black man, with a black baby; soon to be two. The prevailing thought was “How do I protect them?”.

As time went on, the landscape of race relations in this country began to falter. Rage and intolerance were showing their ugly faces everywhere, making it harder and harder for black boys and men to navigate this country.

STORY TIME: When the boys were in 5th and 6th grades, at separate schools, their dad went to pick them up from school. The night before, we’d bought a brand-new car, and the dealer didn’t give us tags. Instead, he gave an official form indicating that the car was registered. This wasn’t abnormal in my state – recently purchased cars with no tags. Dad picks up the oldest from middle school and heads to scoop the youngest from elementary. While in the carpool line, a police officer pulls alongside and begins to question him about the new car: Where’d you get it? When’d you get it? How long have you had it? Which dealership?…. I know those are redundant questions, but that’s what it was. My ex-husband kept his cool, although he was visibly miffed. The officer asked that he pull OUT OF the carpool line, to the side. My our oldest kid was in the backseat, shook, to the point of tears. The officer asked for the official paper from the dealer; asked the same questions again and then some. “Just don’t drive without tags” the officer says…..my ex-husband gets in the BACK of a now, very long carpool line and maintains his composure as he picked up the youngest, and made it home.
FIN

This was 2013/14 and we all know how the climate has intensified since then. Now, my boys are 19 and 20 and I have an adopted 20 year old. I am a single mom with a strong village. Even still, navigating the discussions, reminders, and education about navigating in this country is exhausting. Now, they’re schooling, working, driving, and independent. The amount of anxiety I have about them just living their best lives is at times insurmountable…but I carry that burden, I do not pass it on to them. Recently, my youngest did not know how SICK I was when he drove to Atlanta alone… through country NC, all of SC, and part of GA. Through the county where Ahmaud Arbery was murdered.

It is not their fault that the world is fucked. It’s not just my job to protect my three-pack physically, but mentally and spiritually as well. I want them to live their lives, as I did at that age. As such, we’ve equipped them with the necessary tools for navigation. And as I’m typing this, I think those tools are more like those of my parents and grand as opposed to progression from the tools that I was provided. But whatever it takes, to make it home, alive.

Peace XX
Hip Hop Mom