Raising a Black boy, which Amy and I have been doing for the past five plus years, is a piercing and tumultuous window into the Black experience in America. It has brought me to tears over and over again, especially this past year, tears shed out of rage, horror, and panic.
I have lost track of the dear friends in front of whom I have broken down. It would be natural to think, "where has this empathy been all my life," as in why did it take having Asher as my son to be moved by how dangerous and exhausting it is to be Black in this country. But if it is thought it is not verbalized. Instead, I get warm hugs, generous expressions of solidarity, and best of all, steely statements of "we're going to work on this and make things better for when Asher is grown."
I am deeply appreciative of Asher's village. You buoy me up, give me hope, and remind me we can get this right. Today I say thank you and yes, let's do this.
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