My son is less than two years old, but the pressure to raise a Black man in our nation’s current climate already paralyzes me with fear.
Right now, my son is the life of the party. His charisma and infectious smiles inspire reactions in the grumpiest of strangers. His cheery disposition brightens the days of so many people he comes in contact with. But I know as the years pass, in the public’s eye, he’ll transform from “such a cute little boy” to a perceived threat. My heart breaks knowing he has two options — live long enough to fulfill this prophecy, or die as a result of it.
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