Staring into the eyes of my eight year old, four year old, one year old, boys—their skin the variant colors of sand under bright sky or tides rushing into the shore, I wonder at what point do those boys with their wide eyes and smiles, their curious stares, appear threatening—by the age of 12, 17, 25, 40? At what point do those eyes, those growing bodies and limbs seem scary, menacing, suspicious? At what point does the curl in their long eyelashes as it curves like slivered moons appear sinister instead of beautiful, innocent, wondrous, human?
Like most parents, we ask ourselves how we can keep our children safe, whether their heads are resting in our laps or their bodies walking along our streets. I can not imagine the sinking sun in the throats of mothers who lose their children to violence.
I am acutely aware of the reality of how society might one day view my sons, maybe how society already views them. As a mother I remain in the grace of the spirit, hopeful, resilient, loving.
As there is justice in terms of the law, I am left wondering whether societal laws, our behaviors, that “justice” is truly just—legally, morally, socially—for everyone in the everyday of our lives.
The arc of history is long, but it bends toward justice. -Dr. Martin Luther King
My heart, thoughts, prayers are with Sybrina Fulton and Tracy Martin, to all parents grieving from the loss of a child, as they carry-on, lie one foot in front of the other with grace, love, hope, and faith. No parent should ever have to bury a child.