A letter to my son

Possibly a series I could begin if I continue to feel as if I have enough wisdom to guide you through whatever perils lie ahead. This letter won’t have too much direction as it’s more about me expressing the burdens on my mind on a slow rainy Friday at work. It can be quite difficult trying to put my thoughts and feelings onto paper because it’s hard trying to corral my thoughts into something that makes sense. My thoughts rarely EVER make sense when I first try to focus on what I’m wrapping my mind around. That’ll be a problem you’ll experience growing up in a home with me.

I actually thought this post would be a more generic topic with my own unique flavor to it, but I stepped back and re-examined my angle on such a controversial topic. Son, something you’ll come to find out as you grow in this society is that there’s a true dichotomy that exists amongst the American black male. We are a truly unique blend of gifts and mistakes all violently compiled into one dangerously beautiful specimen. This letter is to inform you of the types of challenges and criticism you’ll encounter as a result of the type of person you will choose to become. The true problem with the black man is that our timeline or history more than indicates that we’ve been left to fend for ourselves in a world that takes no prisoners. Left to fend for so long that we don’t even know how to accept a helping hand when one is right in front of us. I’m just as much of a victim of this as any other.

In your formal education, you’ll learn that all blacks were taken from Africa and dispersed across the world as a result of slavery. Only through your own curiosity will you learn that there’s more to it and that there’s greater detail in the history of the black man. Like any great knowledge that is to be had, you must put forth great effort to unearth mind-shattering wisdom. But history will remain consistent in one theme, and that is the black man has always had to adapt in order to survive and/or succeed. One major component of some of the downfalls is that we typically grow up and experience life without the proper leadership and guidance other cultures may be accustomed to. I was fortunate enough to have a mentor help steer me in the right direction at a time when not much in life made sense. Shout out to Dale Brown, that guy there took me under his wing and just invited me to open my mind to the possibilities that exist outside of conventional thinking. I’m supremely grateful for him because there’s no telling where I’d be without him. My father wasn’t the worst guy around and he wasn’t the best, many lessons I learned from him were because of what he didn’t do or took the time to show me. He wasn’t absent but he wasn’t impactful in the way a kid hopes for. A split-parent home and being the oldest of four left me with more responsibilities at the age of 11 than most adults experience at the age of 30. Where I suffered the most was the fact that my parents were split and I being old enough to grasp the totality of the situation, never saw him take initiative to make sure that I as his oldest, knew how to become a man the right way. There were no father-son talks. There were no father-son trips or lessons or coming-of-age moments. He missed those. And it wasn’t because he was prevented from doing so, he chose not to do those things. I’ll probably never find the time or patience to have that conversation with him because it doesn’t serve a purpose for me. A why would be great, but who needs it IF I find my own way to achieve my goals and dreams? My father lacked ambition and drive for greater things in life and I won’t let that be the case for you. I love my father for who he is and I don’t expect change. I also can’t seem to recall ever looking at my father in awe and that hits me in a weird place mentally and emotionally. It’s a gift to have children and to not inspire them to be great or even want to be like you in some way is a disappointment. Maybe some of that had to do with the bitter relationship my parents openly displayed towards each other, and for a long time, I was definitely more partial to my mother because she did everything in her power to provide for four kids as best she could. But what may have been the biggest contribution of it all was the complete disregard my father did show. He simply didn’t TRY to make things happen, key moments where he would’ve been needed the most, he simply missed. And maybe more than anything, I so badly wished he would’ve shined brightest in those moments just to make up for the rest of the shitty moments. I figured out a large majority of things on my own. I placed less trust and faith in people and more on the idea of what someone could become. Potential is dangerous but it’s the only thing I allowed myself to see in someone. Accepting what’s in front of me as the final product is frightening and it has ultimately gotten me into a bunch of tough situations. I get back to the guidance point because I could’ve taken all of those missed opportunities and used them as negative energy to become a corrupt child and eventually a corrupt adult. Instead, I used it as fuel to ensure that I have something better than what I grew up with. Sure I have my setbacks and hang-ups as a result of my upbringing, but we all have some type of baggage.

Growing up, I was always told by my peers that I talk “white” or acted “white” because of my mannerisms and interests. It never seemed to bother me until I got older. Maybe as an adult, I understand more about perceived stereotypes and how I don’t exactly fit the mold.

. It’s almost like society is willing to embrace a young black male that breaks the law, does drugs, or commits heinous acts as long as they are producing a great musical track or achieving the highest awards in professional sports. The message that is sent to younger generations is that you need to live that type of lifestyle if you want to be above the law, be loved, and be rich

Son, I’m here to let you know that it’s perfectly fine to defy stereotypes and blaze your own trail. Your dad is the prime example of someone who doesn’t sit comfortably in any particular group and I take pride in that. I grew up in a neighborhood where school buses intersected drug busts almost on a regular basis. I grew up with every reason to fail and truly live up to the “hood nigga” perception because I already looked the part. I boasted the intimidating appearance, the pent-up aggression, and the right amount of struggles to make me resent society and everyone in it. I had a father who appeared to not care. We were occasionally homeless. Pent-up aggression and sadness went undetected because I had to be strong for others. Always delaying my own wants and desires. God could’ve easily let me slip into another lifestyle that would have most certainly landed me in prison or an early grave had I not been blessed enough to keep a clear head. I have all the common characteristics of the hood nigga stereotype, but what separates me is that I’m not willing to simply take what is given to me, I will fight for more. I’ve been blessed with amazing abilities and skills and I’ll never be ashamed of where I’ve come from nor will I shy away from what lies ahead. I wouldn’t let my past prevent me from becoming the type of man God wanted me to be. If that were the case, you’d never have a chance to read this. When you’re old enough to read this and understand it, I’ll have no worries about the type of man you’re becoming. I love you, son.