Raising my son has been a gift in ways I never expected.
I want to protect him, not use him as a pawn in my fight for gender equality.
With luck, they will be more than just boys. They will be respectful and responsible and eventually, they will be men.
“Daddy?” “Yes, son?” “Why am I growing up so quickly?”
As a father of not one, not two, but three sons, it is important to me that we take a hard look at how we are raising the next generation of men.
I felt the need to reconnect with my old friend, start a conversation and understand more of what it's like to mother an 18-year-old black son compared to mothering an 18-year-old white one.
I am the mother of sons. They are brothers. They are sweet. They are spacy. They are kind. They are kinda bratty. They sass. They scream. They sing. They rub my feet when I am sick.
Four blonde little boys live in my house. All four look like their daddy, walk like their daddy, and throw a baseball like their daddy.
It happens more than you’re willing to admit. That moment when your child speaks, and you want to shove the words right back into his innocent little face.
It’s not like they call to tell me how adorable and well-behaved my children are.