Let's Talk About a Tired Black Mom

It's been a long time. This one isn't about a trip, so feel free to exit stage left if you came here for that.

Here goes...

I have a black son. He is absolutely beautiful from his just add water coily hair to his sweet, round eyes down to his puffy feet. People stop us everywhere we go to comment on his cuteness and to say hi to the gem that is baby Phoenix. But that's the thing...he is just a baby. One day he'll be a full grown black man. And in America that means he'll somehow be a threat.

I have a black husband. He is so well spoken and annoyingly friendly to everyone. He knows a bajillion random trivia facts, and he likes nerdy stuff like Harry Potter, and he'll surprise you with how many Disney songs he knows the lyrics to. But none of that matters because he's black. And in America that somehow means he's a threat.

I'm mad and sad and scared at the same time.

How will we explain to our son that he can't do half the things his white friends do? Or that wearing a hoodie could send the wrong message. Or that a good chunk of cops aren't here to protect and serve him. Or or or or...the list goes on.

To anyone who thinks America is great for everyone, you are part of the problem. 

To anyone who doesn't see the injustice or makes any excuse for it, you are part of the problem. 

To anyone afraid of the uncomfortableness of this topic, you are part of the problem. 

To anyone who thinks this doesn't affect them, consider yourself privileged but you are part of the problem.

This country is so broken.

Fix it, Jesus.

-a black mom who is tired