Black Parenting Matters: Raising Children in a World of Police Terror. Thursday, 01 October 2015
By Eisa Nefertari Ulen, Truthout
My child’s breath is a freedom song. In. Out. In. Out. In. Out. The rhythmic pulse of air he powers is love, is life, is liberation. In. Out. In. Out. My child is breath. “I am here,” his body says with each inhalation. “I am alive,” his body offers with each exhalation. Each breath is a life force and each life force is a gift, is Holy. He is Divine.
He is more than mere existence. He is complex sinew, meat, blood, mind, matter, running, laughing, playing, smiling, healthy. He is boy in motion, chasing balls, jumping rivers, leaping meadows, climbing trees.
He is an idea made flesh.
He is a rebellion. A riot. A rage against the machine.