Dead or in Jail: The Burden of Being a Black Man in America
There was a time when I vowed to never bring another black child into this world. “For what?” I thought. “To be beaten, to be caged, to be taught to hate himself and everyone who shares the same skin as him?”
“The day you were born, there was a pine box and a prison cell built with your name on it.”
Throughout my childhood and adolescence, my father said that to me countless times, especially just as I was walking out the door. The first time I remember hearing those words, I had to have been about six or seven; I was so young, I didn’t really understand what he meant. I had yet to grasp the burden that comes with being young and black and male in America. It just sounded scary, and after hearing it—given what little I understood about race at the time—I was left with the distinct feeling that I was cursed.
My Comments: Pretty good article on being a black male in America. What’s in a dream?