This mystical bond between a black mother and everyone else’s children she does not know. by. Joseph Solomon
Last year, I posted a poem that was about mothers in GENERAL. This poem is not an attack or diss to mothers who aren’t black. My fondest memories are with black mothers, particularly my own, because …. well…. I’m black. Majority of my life, my Mother’s Days have been spent with black mothers and grandmothers. This “protectiveness” I felt from black mothers growing up I did not feel from white or Asian or Latino mothers. That’s not an insult. That’s just how it was. I’m not saying other mothers don’t do this. I’m just saying, this is my personal experience that I know many other black people share. In love, my white Family, it’s become increasingly frustrating when I can’t share what’s special to me, without even critiquing white people, but some of you find a way to be offended.
It’s surprising that after several years of this being at the forefront of conversations, some of you still don’t get it, or least not even willing to listen. But I also won’t be one of those Christian figures that you try to hush to make you feel more comfortable about you. Try that on a CCM artist or something. I’m not him. I’m not that. I love you, but “grace” and love do not equal passivity.