If This World Were Theirs: Parenting Black Boys From a Place of Fear

From the taxi’s window, as my boys and I sat on the tan, velvet-like covered rear-seat of a gray mini-van with “Luau Taxi” screen-printed on the side, the ocean looked to be a gradation of blues: starting with a blue faint as the water in my childhood gold-fish bowl and ending in a blue with so much depth that you wondered if even the whales could play endless hours of hide-and-seek.  But when we checked into the hotel (densely freckled with palm trees and azaleas), dropped our bags, hurriedly changed from our chilly-weather clothes into our bathing suits, and scurried to the ocean, we saw that the ocean was actually more a tapestry of greens than of blues.

We are at our best here: surrounded by sand, concrete and the ocean.  Suddenly our daily dysfunction became functional.  No homework assignments, constantly running…

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