Right now, the world smiles at my infant son. Strangers say how cute he is. They admire his soft curls and tiny shoes. But I know, far too soon, the world will look at him differently. It will size him up. Question him. Fear him. I ask myself how many more summers I get before someone mistakes his energy for aggression. His questions for defiance. His presence for a problem. It may not see the baby I hold close on this July night, only the image it has learned to fear.

Dear Neighbor, 

On the Fourth of July, my infant son rested peacefully in my arms while fireworks lit up the night sky. His tiny fist wrapped around my finger. All of my children were draped in red, white, and blue; tiny symbols of a country that I hope, one day, will truly make space for all of them.

To them, the Fourth of July is a celebration. Popsicles. Music. Shouts of joy. Family and freedom. But to me, it’s layered. Sweet and sharp. Joy wrapped in worry. Because I know that as they grow; especially as young and Black in America, freedom won’t always feel like theirs.

Right now, the world smiles at my infant son. Strangers say how cute he is. They admire his soft curls and tiny shoes. But I know, far too soon, the world will look at him differently. It will size him up. Question him. Fear him. I ask myself how many more summers I get before someone mistakes his energy for aggression. His questions for defiance. His presence for a problem. It may not see the baby I hold close on this July night, only the image it has learned to fear.

I want my children to believe in the beauty of this country. I want them to know their history; not just the pain, but the power, the progress, the brilliance of being Black in America. I want them to know they are worthy, that they belong. But I can’t lie to them about the dangers. I can’t forget the names of the mothers who have cried before me.

As the fireworks explode and the crowd cheers, I cheer too. I whisper a mother’s prayer. That they live. That they thrive. That they are allowed to be children with no fear for as long as possible. I will spend every breath I have protecting their light in a world that too often tries to dim it.

They are my revolution. My reason. My hope.

“Dear Neighbor” authors are united in a belief that civility and passion can coexist. We believe curiosity and conversation make us a better community.