earthlyme
Proud Member
- Joined
- Nov 1, 2006
- Messages
- 4,066
- Points
- 63
I just got this in my email and I thought it was one of the most beautiful words i've ever read 
:yes:...I've searched on here and didnt fine anything so here goes...
Go and hug your "Michael"
Yesterday I cried watching the Michael Jackson memorial. I cried for a
little black boy who felt the world didn't understand him. I cried for a
little black boy who spent his adulthood chasing his childhood. And I
thought about
all the young black boys out there who may too feel that the world
doesn't understand them. The ones who feel that the world does not
understand their baggy jeans, their swagger, their music, their anger,
their struggles, their fears or the chip on their shoulder. I worry that
my son, may too, one day will feel lonely in a wide, wide world.
I cried for the young children of all colors who may live their life
feeling like a misfit, feeling like no one understands their
perspective, or their soul. What a burden to carry.
As a mother, I cried for Katherine Jackson because no mother should ever
bury a child. Period. And I think about all the pain, tears and
sleepless nights that she must have endured seeing her baby boy in inner
pain, seeing him struggle with his self-esteem, and his insecurities and
to know he often felt unloved even while the world loved him deeply. How
does it feel to think t hat the unconditional love we give as mothers
just isn't enough to make our children feel whole? I wonder if she still
suffers thinking, "what more could I have done?" Even moms of music
legends aren't immune to mommy guilt, I suppose.
When Rev. Al Sharpton ("who always delivers one" awesome "funeral
speech") said to Michael's children, "Your daddy was not strange...It
was strange what your Daddy had to deal with," I thought of all the
"strange" things of the world that my children will have to deal with.
Better yet, the things I hope they won't ever have to deal with anymore.
And as a mother raising a young black boy, I feel recommitted and yet a
little confused as to how to make sure my son is sure enough within
himself to take on the world. Especially a "strange" one. To love
himself enough to know that even when the world doesn't understand you,
tries to force you into its mold or treats you unkindly, you are still
beautiful, strong and Black. How do I do that?
Today, I am taking back "childhood" as an inalienable right for every
brown little one. In a world, that makes children into booty-shaking,
mini-adults long before their time, I'm reclaiming the playful,
innocent, run-around-outside, childhood as the key ingredient in raising confident
adults. Second, I will not rest until my little black boy, MY Michael,
knows that his broad nose is beautiful, his chocolate brown skin is
beautiful, and his thick hair is=2 0beautiful.
And nothing or no one can ever take that away from him.
"Now aint we bad? And ain't we black? And ain't we fine? ---Maya Angelou
L.O.V.E.
Romi
:yes:...I've searched on here and didnt fine anything so here goes...Go and hug your "Michael"
Yesterday I cried watching the Michael Jackson memorial. I cried for a
little black boy who felt the world didn't understand him. I cried for a
little black boy who spent his adulthood chasing his childhood. And I
thought about
all the young black boys out there who may too feel that the world
doesn't understand them. The ones who feel that the world does not
understand their baggy jeans, their swagger, their music, their anger,
their struggles, their fears or the chip on their shoulder. I worry that
my son, may too, one day will feel lonely in a wide, wide world.
I cried for the young children of all colors who may live their life
feeling like a misfit, feeling like no one understands their
perspective, or their soul. What a burden to carry.
As a mother, I cried for Katherine Jackson because no mother should ever
bury a child. Period. And I think about all the pain, tears and
sleepless nights that she must have endured seeing her baby boy in inner
pain, seeing him struggle with his self-esteem, and his insecurities and
to know he often felt unloved even while the world loved him deeply. How
does it feel to think t hat the unconditional love we give as mothers
just isn't enough to make our children feel whole? I wonder if she still
suffers thinking, "what more could I have done?" Even moms of music
legends aren't immune to mommy guilt, I suppose.
When Rev. Al Sharpton ("who always delivers one" awesome "funeral
speech") said to Michael's children, "Your daddy was not strange...It
was strange what your Daddy had to deal with," I thought of all the
"strange" things of the world that my children will have to deal with.
Better yet, the things I hope they won't ever have to deal with anymore.
And as a mother raising a young black boy, I feel recommitted and yet a
little confused as to how to make sure my son is sure enough within
himself to take on the world. Especially a "strange" one. To love
himself enough to know that even when the world doesn't understand you,
tries to force you into its mold or treats you unkindly, you are still
beautiful, strong and Black. How do I do that?
Today, I am taking back "childhood" as an inalienable right for every
brown little one. In a world, that makes children into booty-shaking,
mini-adults long before their time, I'm reclaiming the playful,
innocent, run-around-outside, childhood as the key ingredient in raising confident
adults. Second, I will not rest until my little black boy, MY Michael,
knows that his broad nose is beautiful, his chocolate brown skin is
beautiful, and his thick hair is=2 0beautiful.
And nothing or no one can ever take that away from him.
"Now aint we bad? And ain't we black? And ain't we fine? ---Maya Angelou
L.O.V.E.
Romi
