Content Warning: This post may elicit a range of emotions from Black people grieving the recent murders of George Floyd, Daunte Wright and the persistent acts of dehumanization of Black bodies in our world.
Author’s Note: This is in honor of our fallen comrades, Brother George Floyd and Brother Daunte Wright.
Dear Son,
The moment I released you from my womb I became Mother-Sergeant-At-Arms, giving birth to an unwitting soldier in a war no man is safe from. Your grandfather, Osiris, empowered you by breathing in you, his last breath. You breathe the breath of kings.
I have been tasked with teaching you the way of the Mali, who were mighty in strength, but whose goal was to unite. I taught you to be invisible, shrewd, stealthy, and most importantly, disarming. It had become your mission to love yourself with arrogant humility, while also loving your brothers and the rest of your human family. You were to love as a matter of fact, not as a matter of option. Hannibal left me a gift for you. It was this soul of his elephant. With it, you will learn peace, strength, loyalty, and how to have a thick skin. Sidhartha stopped by too. He left you a note. “We are what we think… With our thoughts we make the world.” So, be intentional with your mind. Oh, I almost forgot, there was somebody else, they wanted me to say to you that “the revolution would not be televised. The revolution would be live.” I do not understand all that I have been tasked to deliver to you, because the message is for you. You will know when the time comes.
Even though there will not be a television, I want you to remember that you are a revolutionary and your act of radical resistance will be to breathe. You have to choose to breathe. You have to fight to breathe. You have to breathe son, breathe. And when breathing becomes too much to bear, just call me. Call my name and wherever I am, I will call upon Jehovah God to swing low His sweet chariot, to come forth to carry you home.
I want you to remember that you are a revolutionary and your act of radical resistance will be to breathe...and when breathing becomes too much to bear, just call me. Click To TweetMy memory is not what it used to be, son, so I am writing this letter, so that I don’t forget anything. Ahhh, you know what I almost forgot? I almost forgot to tell you about your dad. Now, when I met him, he had fallen in love with a white girl who introduced him to that white girl. She used to sing him doped up lyrics over the hot tracks on his arm. I sang lyrical dope to the jazz of his soul. We were fire. Our connection was static. I loved him “in a place where there was no space or time. I loved him with my life, he was a friend of mine.” Oh my gawd, that man did something to me. I know you never met him because he was murdered right before you were born. I named you after him though, Reverend Dr. Martin Luther King Kalif Browder George Floyd, Jr. What a regal name. That name means something. That name should be spoken by the lips of everyone who enjoys freedom today. That name should be held in the hearts of anyone with a heart. That, my son, is the name of someone whose life will make a difference for decades, even centuries to come. But I digress.
I named you after him though, Reverend Dr. Martin Luther King Kalif Browder George Floyd, Jr. What a regal name. That name means something. That name should be spoken by the lips of everyone who enjoys freedom today. Click To TweetAnyway, him and your Uncle Fred Caliph Washington el-Hajj Malik el-Shabazz Hampton, had gone down to Cup Foods over in Minneapolis and got into it with some guy in a blue suit. The man said that they had tried to pay with a counterfeit reparations check. Your dad tried to explain what happened, that was the check they gave him when he sold his 40 acres and a mule and that it had to be good, because he got everything in writing before he left. Well, somebody distracted him when they put their hand in your uncle’s pocket. Out of nowhere, the man in blue put his foot on your dad’s neck until he could no longer breathe. They got it all on tape, but I couldn’t watch it. I did as Mother Isis had instructed me to do in this situation. I traveled the world collecting the broken pieces of the love of my spirit, and ate them to his resurrection. Horus, that is you son. You are the rebirth of Slick. You will realign all the Digable Planets and everything will be cool like that.
Son, I am writing you this letter as a call to action. I need you to always remember that there is no greater purpose than love and to always resist, until your very last breath. I got you baby, just breathe.
Love,
The Mother of Black America
Son, I am writing you this letter as a call to action. I need you to always remember that there is no greater purpose than love and to always resist, until your very last breath. I got you baby, just breathe. Click To Tweet
