Today my Instagram page holds only one photo, and it's caption - four simple words...'You Made Me Cry'.
I have always been the 'logical one'. I've never been that crying, emotional being that many people have come to attribute to womanhood, but today, I cried. I cried as a black woman, raising a black woman, understanding that as a mother we often take the cruelties of this world upon our shoulders and count as our mistakes elements that are beyond our control.
I cried as aunt and godmother to four future black men who, right now have no knowledge of the fact that even the innocence of their smile can be deemed menacing, based solely on the color of their skin. Young men who have no idea that they inhabit a space where their happiness is a threat and the mere fact that they exist on this earth enrages thousands of people daily.
I cried because Fruitvale Station is a sad story whose ending I knew before it was ever made into a film. Yet most of all, I cried for Oscar Grant, knowing that his story is the story of thousands just like him who go unnoticed and without regard every single day.
Where I wept softly while watching Oscar play with his daughter, not knowing it would be his last day of life, I cried at his response to being shot. There was no regard for himself. No anger or rage. Only humility in the words, "I got a daughter". As a parent you want the best for your children, but moreover, it's about your needs. As a mother you need to know that your children are safe when they enter into spaces where you are not present to care for them. Because of this, I cry. I cry because I was in a car accident just a few weeks ago with my own 4 year old daughter in the car. I grieve even now for the days when this world will seek to do her harm and she will be without the only person on this earth having vowed to protect her.
I cry because although I have no sons, I too am Wanda Johnson.
No comments:
Post a Comment