My Son


         My son will be a boy of the chocolate variety. My son will be a black boy with heritage bleeding through his veins. He will be my pride and joy and I will nurture him with my soul and my warm chocolate eyes. My son will be loved, that I know for sure. 

When I was younger I wanted a little girl. I wanted to comb her thick, dark, coarse hair. I wanted to make her me. But as I get older, I realize I do not want to create someone like me. I want to raise a man.

America’s past events have not deterred me from having my son. Since the Trayvon Martin case, so many black people have said they are afraid to have a son. Nope. Not me.

I will never be afraid of my brown skin pouring through my veins and into the growing embryo in my stomach. I will never be afraid of my ancient, rich DNA forming the little boy that I will chase around my house. I will never be afraid of continuing the race that has made me strong. 

In America where it is apparently ok to pursue and murder a boy simply because of his physicality, I will raise my son. Not out of spite, but out of love. I love myself and I love myself enough to extend a part of myself to another human. 

Racist people (aka scared people) want me to be afraid to raise my son. My son will be a reminder to those scared people that we as a race are here to stay. 

My womb will create a son with black heritage and he will be loved. He will have curly hair like me and his father will help me raise a man. The day I become afraid to create a generation of black people is when fear will overcome liberty. 

My son will be of the chocolate variety and his skin will be like gold to me. His skin will be amazing. But here is what the world needs to realize: His mind will be more powerful than his skin. 

I will love him.


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