5, A Mother's Journey

With every nap, his limbs extend. My Black boy, with his little brown fingers and toes, will grow up to be a Black man; and that terrifies me. But how long can I shelter him in my arms? I hold him extra tight and whisper, I love him. My boy, born during the Ferguson riots and whose third birthday was darkened by Charlottesville, just turned five. The age when he goes to kindergarten by himself and is introduced to opinions of others beyond my protective arms. How long before the confidence and creativity I’ve fought to instill in him is seen as a threat by someone’s prejudice? How do I keep him from being another hashtag, his heartbeat slowed from the 165 that announced his life in my womb to nothing, or his killer never brought to justice? With this documentary, I’ve gone back to my hometown of Kilmichael, MS. A place where I was aware of the vulnerability my blackness brought to face fears, a lynching, and intimidation. I look fear in its face and let it know that it does not define my son or me. In my words of honor, it is to continue to instill in my son confidence and creativity, despite every effort to dehumanize him. To make sure he knows that he matters.