T will be five in two weeks. I have feelings about him being the only black person in his class. I struggle. But in this post-modern, Obama era I try and convince myself that raising this beautiful black male in the most honorable, the most intelligently responsible way, won't be so difficult in this interesting, blended mosaic, mock Utopian and tragically problematic place - which is the "United" States.
So why does T come home from school one day, upset - offended. I can see it in his face and his body language when he relates to me that some boys and girls in his class, he calls them each by name, are drawing pictures of him, images of him, behind bars - in jail. T is disturbed by this and he asks me is he going to jail. And I have to console him, promising him that this would never, ever happen to my sweet, delicate, pumpkin. But in the back of my mind, and I'm not pulling any class card by bringing up Skip Gates how tragically telling this is - almost a decade into the new millennium. Recognizing how real his fear is - is a miserable reality. Assaulting the innocence of children is such a shameful, hateful crime and I know the culprits are cruelly securing the privilege of their offspring. That T's classmates are already throwing him in that fucked-up, blatantly racist box -and these little minions are not even out of Kindergarten yet - makes me wonder what their family's dinner conversations are like.
God Bless Fucking America.
