A Letter to My Daughter’s Brother

*I attempted to write this letter last week but did not have the emotional capacity to do so then. I barely have it now.

Dear Deuce,

The other night, as we finished bath time and put on your pajamas, you asked, “Daddy, will you sleep in my room with me?” Tears filled my eyes as I processed your question – because, at this moment, I did not know if you needed me, or if I needed you. Why? Simple. Your question came just days after Memorial Day 2020, a day that began with a woman in Manhattan threatening to use her white privilege on Christian Cooper and ended with the unconscionable murder of George Floyd in Minneapolis. Your question stopped me in my tracks. “Daddy, will you sleep in my room with me?”

As I cried, I hugged and kissed you, and prayed over you. In this same moment, I had to finally reconcile with the fact that teaching you about the birds and the bees would pale in comparison to me teaching you what it will mean to be a black boy, and ultimately a black man in America. So even at age four, I am preparing myself to prepare you.

As you navigate this life of yours, I want you to know that it will be a beautiful struggle. I want you to know that racism is real. But, I also want you to know that you are beautifully black and that the shade of your skin is something you should be proud of. I want you to know that God is real. I want you to know that your middle name is Zion for a reason. I want you to know that I love you, as does your mother and your sister, along with a council of men ready to stand in the gap for you should something ever happen to me.

Lastly, I want you to know that I finally figured out who needed who more that night. You thought you needed me to sleep in your room with you, but I needed you, son. The world needs you too.

Catch your breath,

Dad