photo: The Black Art Depot
A mother holds her son tightly to her chest and tears begin to flow.
The son is confused, wondering why his mother is crying. He only said he was going to the park to play basketball. So he asked her, “Momma, why are you crying? I won’t be gone long. I’ll be back before dinner, I promise.”
The mother just looked at him, kissed him on his forehead and said “let me pray for you.”
The son didn’t understand, but he stood there to honor his mother’s wish to pray for him. Once she was done, he kissed her on the cheek, and walked out of the door.
All day long, the mother was wired. Wired with fear, wired with nervousness. She was unaware of what the next minute may bring. Constantly checking her phone to make sure she hadn’t missed a phone call and kept the TV low enough in the other room to hear a knock at the door.
Hours went by, before the boy returned home. He arrived just before dinner time as he promised he would. He walked in the door unscathed. The mother smiled and embraced her son and the tears began to flow again.
The son could hear his mother sobbing and asked “Momma, what’s wrong? I told you I was coming back. I was just with my friends and we played basketball all day.”
The mother wiped her tears and placed her palms on her son’s face and said “I know son, but these days, when a young black man steps outside of his home he may not come back. I feared that you would be the next young black man who didn’t get to come back home.”
Pray for our young black men. Pray that they get to come back home.