I awoke at 6:30 am from four hours of crappy sleep. Yesterday’s inauguration had made me very anxious so I stayed up watching Bridge of Spies, Jane Wants a Boyfriend and Beyond the Sea till 2:30 or so. I don’t have to explain that anxiety to anyone here, I know, but my oldest boy is a teenager now. The six-foot-two, two-hundred-ten pound frame he’s destined to develop is beginning to take shape. His skin is darker than his brother’s, a rich olive-brown reflecting African, Georgian and Anglo heritage. My beautiful, intelligent and gentle child is on the cusp of becoming a Mortal Threat.
The Talk has been an ongoing, slow-rolling event that began in earnest with Ferguson. This past year, as it became clear that Trump was shaping up to be a mortal threat to the Republic, those talks took on a different tone and substance. By Nov. 8th our conversation was less about police and more about the white supremacist movement feeling its oats and uncertainty about how deep the Pepe current may run. An “alt-right” public emboldened by hat tips from Donald Trump could spell real and present danger to many people, including our family, and especially to this boy.
He and I know deep conversation, often while driving to school. We delve into adult topics and I never hold back on truth or language in deference to his age. I believe my boys deserve clear answers and clear verbiage in all we explore, most especially on the dangers of this world and the threats they may face in life. Sometimes those realities are scary, and that’s ok. We work through solutions and strive toward the Light. Always, if nothing else, we strive toward the Light.