I woke up this morning all groggy. I didn’t feel very productive so I channel surfed for a while. I ended up watching that Black List Volume 1 documentary on HBO again. It’s the third time I’ve watched it. Its powerful. I sit hoping that it will never end, it always does. But when it does I have this neck stretching, back straightening, head held high sense of pride and I just want to get up and change the world. These brown faces on my television screen all successful, all different, all human, and tangible. Today, it got me thinking about the boys in my family; the younger ones, who really have their entire lives ahead of them, the ones who subconsciously look up to me, because I am the eldest responsible male in the family. I started thinking, what was my responsibility to them? How was I going to teach them about the world and being a man? What being a man really meant? And what being black meant? And because of these thoughts you have this letter. It’s nothing amazing. I didn’t edit. I never edit. But I felt and believed every word that I wrote. Maybe someday I will share with them like I’m sharing it with you.
Dear Brown Boy,
I have spent a better portion of my adult life trying to make manhood a tangible concept. One that I could wear proudly around my neck, smile and say “this is the way, brown boy.” A concept that I could plant firmly into ground, deep enough for you to follow, deep enough for you to fall, pick yourself up, dust your knees, and keep pressing forward. I’m trying to find that for you. For me. This manhood. This strong sense of blackness, where all the cracks and bends meet, leaves me the one who showed you the way. I wish I had more time. You’re growing so fast, soaking every word and ray of sunshine, and its becoming oblivious you have questions. The ones I’ve prepared myself for. The ones I don’t have the answers to, and the ones that would be easier if you asked your father. I know we are not afforded that luxury. I take the charge. I will carry you, unanswered questions and all, because it’s the right thing to do. Because I wish someone did the same for me. The world is no place for you to wander with no hand to fall into when it backs you into the corner. I want to be your hand. So many brown boys lose their way, and stumble into a cycle of “I didn’t know any better.” You don’t need to stumble. I have stumbled enough for the both of us. I know that stumbling is necessary and though I can’t catch you every time, I know that you will learn how to cushion for your fall, find my words stuck to your ribs, and find the strength to persevere. I know that you will, but still I worry. I have seen so many times eyes beaming, God like with potential become dull and complacent. I will not let your dreams shrivel and die. I won’t let you or anyone else kill it. Even at the risk of us not being the best of friends. You are more, stubborn, wise, and joyful. More like me that you will ever know, and more than I can admit. You may hate me at times, but I promise you will thank me later. I just hope that in my journey to find whatever it is I am destined to do, I don’t taint or bruise you badly. I can only offer you this view of manhood that I’ve slowly stringed together over the years. I won’t be the one to talk sport, car, or blood sport video games with. I can pretend my best. Its not me. I’m sorry. I can’t be there then. But I can teach you responsibility, compassion, respect, and love. I can show you a gentleman always holds the door and always walk closest to the street. I can teach you to iron and how to separate the colors from the whites, how to pick a lock (only for emergencies). I can show you that plaids and stripes don’t mix and maybe we can learn from each other how to tie a tie. I can open your eyes to the great expanse of world that surrounds us, and teach the reality you know is not the only one that exist.. I can keep you; make sure you hold on to your imagination, your childlike laughter, make sure you don’t rush into adulthood. Steady. Give me a few more years to figure this life shit out. Let me press a few more footprints into the ground. Let me make a few more mistakes, read a few more books, let me see how the world will change. Then I will be ready to show you.
I promise in all of my short comings that I will love you that much more. I will talk louder and stand taller, with all my cracks and bends. So that you never will never have an excuse to fail; that you will always have a reason to succeed. Always have someone in your corner. Always cheering you on.
Your mentor in training,
KD
