|Photo by Sandro Corona|
I’ll admit that sometimes this doesn’t feel like a miracle. Because everyone doesn’t perceive it that way. And when you’re like me, and you’re used to seeking validation for your own thoughts and feelings somewhere else, it’s easy to question what you believe. I have wanted to be a mom as long as I can remember. I always knew I wanted my legacy to be more than the diplomas I’ve earned, and the laws I’ve written, and my legacy is you. I feel so blessed, so honored, to bring you to life. And I’ve never doubted that I’m doing the right thing, though I am sometimes overwhelmed by the magnitude of the challenge I have assumed: to raise you alone, to raise you to be a man of honor and integrity, someone who walks with dignity because he’s earned it. I’ll be a woman raising the type of man she never knew existed.
It’s hard to savor the moment, to count the blessings. Because I am so worried about fucking up. Your father says that we have no control, no control over the person you become. He says children grow into terrorists, even when they have good parents. I don’t believe that. I don’t believe you can be anything but good, and pure, a beacon of light in this dark, scary world. And I intend to help you. My gift is creating opportunity where there was none before, leaving things a little better than I found them. This is not the first time I’ve been told it can’t be done, or it’s not worth doing. And I intend to prove them wrong. But it would be nice to have a little encouragement.
Whenever I see black children, I always make it a point to greet them, at least with a smile, a nod. Why aren’t our children beautiful, why aren’t they treasured? Why are they yelled at and left behind to walk alone? Many people have said you’ll be so beautiful if you have my dark skin, and his light eyes. I secretly hope you’ll have mine. When you look at the world for the first time, with those big brown eyes, we will send them to hell with their racist prejudices and stereotypes.