In defense of black boy joy

Brown and agile child, the sun which forms the fruit
And ripens the grain and twists the seaweed
Has made your happy body and your luminous eyes
And given your mouth the smile of water." 
​Brown and Agile Child, Pablo Neruda

At five years old he is a walking Boy Archetype, complete with dirt smudges, Lego or stick pistols, roughhousing and more poop jokes than I can count. Since birth I’ve taken care to show him respect and consent by doing everything from describing what’s happening or about to happen during a diaper change to reminding him to ask consent before hugging or wrestling with another child. He is gentle and kind with his baby sister, and checks on friends when they are hurt. His imagination is a firecracker, luminous and taking of in multiple directions at once.
On this day I received the message from a friend that her daughter shared at home that my son hugged and kissed her without permission at school the day before. We meet, talk with the children and their teacher, and in the end everyone separately expresses that in fact any kissing or hugging that happened was part of a game that both children were willingly playing. The teacher had even stopped the game part way through to make sure both were comfortable and kept a close eye throughout the interaction. 

I’m relieved. And also terrified. I can imagine the same situation happening ten years later and my heart screams at the knowledge that next time things could end differently. I implore him to calm down, speak clearly, TONE IT DOWN! Even in post-Obama America in the Preschool-to-Prison Pipeline is actively in use. Black boys in school are the most likely to be suspended, even as early as preschool. As a black boy my son doesn’t have the privilege of “just being a kid”. It could cost him his life. I become vigilant, reminding him constantly of the importance of asking for permission and waiting for a response. Even when wanting a hug from me, his mother. Worse, I began to criticize him for the same things I praise in his sister: speaking up, standing his ground, asserting himself, creating more space for himself in this world. I could feel my own childhood traumas brushing against my skin and peeking at me from the shadows. 

The artist with "Bow and Arrow Shoots the Sun", snowballs

Practicing selfie game and winking

Three years later the shadows are still there. Everyday he gets closer to becoming a man and I struggle against my own desire to prepare him for that time. Suddenly, my own words come back to me in a flash. A salve for this aching mama heart. Childhood is not preparation for adulthood, it is its own sacred and special moment. Childhood belongs to itself, not to the intangible future, nor to the broken past. Haven’t I told this to countless educators and new parents? How could I claim to be an advocate for respecting and celebrating authentic childhood and spend so much time restraining the expression of those I love most?

Summer headpiece, wire and string

The difficult truth is that we can never truly prepare our children for their futures because we cannot foretell exactly what they will be. With equal parts love, hope and fear, we bind our children with the intention of preparing them for the harsh realities of adulthood. Our behaviors tell them “life is tough, better start getting used to it”, or “shrink, alter, subdue yourself so that they aren’t afraid of you”. History and reality tell us that these tactics do not preserve Black Boyhood. They did not save Emmett, or Trayvon, or the millions of Black and Brown boys whose souls, hearts and minds are fed to the System daily.

We need a different way. Raising feminist sons must include One that is ancient as a drum, yet still can feel unnervingly obscure. We must center joy and freedom as central to boyhood, and view ourselves as the guardians of that joy.  We must decolonize childhood. Raising feminist sons means nurturing and hearing them when they whisper so they do not shout to be heard. It means loving ourselves enough to live authentically, and respecting when they do so as well. We must give them the preparations that all of us need above all: time and space for self-knowledge, and the awareness that we are loved unconditionally for being exactly who we are.
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I will still teach my son daily about consent and bodily sovereignty. I will still model, remind and counter the harmful messages that he receives in the world around us and shelter him with equal measure from White Supremacy and Toxic Masculinity. But I will no longer prepare my child for manhood. Instead, I will celebrate him as he is now. Impulsive, passionate, empathetic, careless, intricate, curious, giddy, wild. Boy.

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