Dear (Black Single) Mama
Where y’all at? — I ask, but I already know
I ask because from my West End Atlanta outdoor office (apartment patio) and while rush-walking my elderly, overweight dog through the gentrifying ‘hood, I see and hear a lot. I’ve seen your babies buying weed wrappers from grown-ass men. I’ve seen your teens riding electric scooters on major highways.
But I already know because my baby just grew up (as if any of us are ever done growing) and is in the last of his teen years. August 2019, I dropped him off two states away to experience his first heartbreak, his first roommate coming out to him, and his first illness away from home.
Some of his classmates navigated rape and life-changing, character-destroying betrayals. Others were provoked by hateful, crazy people and systemized poverty to burn down our country around us and loot.
The 17 years or so earlier I spent working my ass off everywhere from strip clubs to agencies to public schools to rideshare companies and in-between while earning a master’s in my passion, just to still end up plain old “Mom” at the end of the day. So one thing I know for sure: most moms are trying their absolute best.
And if Mama isn’t there, she’s probably at work, or otherwise trying to secure her “bag.” Because who else is going to bring it home? A few of us, married or nah, have fainted from held breath and waiting on someone else to. And as The Weeknd said, “All that money, the money is the motive. Girl, put in work.”
Except a few hours ago, my son’s godmom told me that one of her best students, a 15-year-old, was just murdered by another teen over a $20 debt and I’m so sad, and wondering what the world would be if the kids were the motive. But not in a surface, often more damaging “stay (together) for the kids” kind of way.
I challenge us, (single black) moms to show our babies (and ourselves) what love happiness, health, authenticity, vulnerability, and bravery looks like, at all costs, instead of a (false) sense of “security” and just paying the bills. Let’s let (true) love be the motive.
This year, my almost 20-year-old returned to my modest, thin-walled apartment and while this may not be what I envisioned for “Grown Woman 2020,” I am grateful.
I remember how lonely it felt in the belly of the beast that is the (single) mom struggle. My heart goes out to those still there. And I ask, from the bottom of it, how can we, your village, fellow (single black) moms support you?