My [First] Will and Testament

Written May 2021

from the Writer's Perspective

MahoganyBooks #BlackBooksMatter 2021 Writing Series (Part IV of IV)

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??????????? “I’m NOT handsome. I’m NOT kind. I’m NOT creative,” my son Solomon exclaims while crossing his arms in a huff; his four (and a half--you can’t forget the half) year old self quivering much in the way his lower lip is.

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This is a familiar refrain, unfortunately. What’s fortunate, however, is that it is easily countered by one that is even more familiar.

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“What do we know about words?” I say.

“Words have power,” he replies.

“Are those the kind of words you want to speak?” I ask.

“No,” he responds.

“So how might we use kinder words?” I reply.

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“I AM handsome. I AM kind. I AM creative” he says.

“Yes, yes you are.” I say.

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Then we usually hug and he tells me he loves me and that I’m the best dad ever.? I respond in kind (no pun intended), telling him that he’s the best “Solomon” ever.

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“Why are you crying, Sweetpea?” I ask.

“Because I feel like I’m in trouble!” my daughter Samara retorts through a veil of tears.

“Are you in trouble?” I ask.

“No.” she replies, sniffing, yet still shaking.

“So why are you still crying?” I reply.

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“Because you and mommy always tell me that I’m the oldest and I should know better.” she says.

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“And you are the oldest and you should know better, “I say, not letting her (or her nearly four more years of experience on this planet) off the hook.

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“But I feel like Solomon never gets in trouble but I always do,” she replies, her voice getting higher and seemingly more desperate.

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“And is that true? Does he never get in trouble?” I ask

“No!” she says through tears.

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She then tries to pivot again and state another example of the unfair treatment of which she believes herself to be the recipient.

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I stop her and say, “Sweetpea, I need you to listen with your ears and not with your fears, okay?”

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“Okay,” she says—finally acquiescing.

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We speak further and when we’re done, I hold her hands in mine, look in her eyes and tell her I love her. She looks at me evenly. I hold her gaze and look at her with a smile on my face and what I hope she sees as love in my eyes. I don’t waiver. Five seconds pass. Then ten. She embraces me and hugs me tightly. I tell her I love her and there’s nothing she can do about it.

I mean it.

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It is one of the deepest desires of my heart to loose upon the world God-fearing, kind, resilient, emotionally-intelligent, and loving humans.

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Since early 2020 we’ve been subjected to the twin pandemics of the SARS COVID-19 virus and the continued degradation and killing of black and brown bodies at the hands of law enforcement. Based upon these factors it has become clear that both time and our lives are the two most important investments that we can make.

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Remote working during this past year has brought the various (and perhaps previously disparate) factions of my life together.? Chief among them is seeing my children throughout the day and watching them grow wiser with remote learning and bigger as time progresses.

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Without these conditions it would have been difficult for me to have these kinds of “interventions” during the work day.? So I stand in orchestra---surrounded by the cacophonic news ticker that riffs an interplay of variants, masks, “new normal” I peer at tearful families and communities reeling from death caused by a different kind of shield that never seems to vary in its execution (pun intended) making this normal not so “new” after all.

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This is the foreground where I attempt—together with my wife Farran—to raise our children. It’s both daunting and haunting and for a man whose first name is also an anagram of the word “solution,” I have no answers.

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I turn to the sage that is N.K. Jemisin, who in her incredible collection of stories, How Long ‘Til Black Future Month? asks the sobering question, “What good does it do to be valuable if nobody values you?”

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I sit at attention with the tension this consideration causes. And then, as one does in peeling back layers, I try to free the hope hidden in the inherent fears not in this statement, but in me.

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I believe that their futures are bright---brilliant, even.

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And I know that this belief is revolutionary.

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And it has to be for me to face all that we do and not grow numb. And for them and all future generations of kids like mine to face all that and lean into the feeling of empathy.

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My children will inherit the wings that I plant roots for. That is my hope for them.

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They are sensitive antennas connecting and transmitting that which is poured into them. And I am proud of the people they are growing into. I understand why my parents and generations before them prepared us for a world they felt could harm us, so they implored us to play it safe. I want to raise my children for a world they can help heal, so I have to use—or forge—different tools.

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The future will be won by people who learn to use what they have to fashion sails for their hardship(s). My first will and testament is to raise children who have the skills--and with it the will—to do so.

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