motherhood Nubian Bride sons

Letter to My Son

At 9 monts… Belly Paint by: Alicia Cobb
Photos by: Shanna T. Melton

Dear Son,

I wanted you before you before you even formed in my womb. Imagine the excitement when I discovered in 9 months my dream would soon become a reality. I constantly found myself daydreaming about you and all the things you and I would do together. I smiled as I thought about the person you’d grow to be. Would you be an avid reader like mommy? Or would you be poetic and musically-inclined like daddy? Would you play football, basketball, baseball, or soccer? Would you be adventurous or would you be comedic? Although my mind was consumed w/all the wonderful things you’d do and the great person you’d become, the moment I heard your heartbeat I was jolted back into reality. Was it selfish of me to want you so bad that I would knowingly birth you into a cold, cruel, ending world? Aware of the fact that our Black men are being annihilated at alarming rates caused me to fear for your life before you even made your journey through the birth canal. I pondered the many ways I’d protect you from this world that was waiting to devour you. Could I cradle you in my arms and shield your innocent eyes from the ills of Amerika? Maybe I could just keep you sheltered at home causing you to be socially handicapped.

With all that has been going on recently in this city we call home, I wish I could securely place you back in my womb until all this blows over and all is well. If that were somehow possible, you may have never been born.

Now that you are here, I pray God’s covering over your precious life. I pray I make wise decisions in raising you. I pray as you grow you make even wiser decisions. I love you!!!


Nubian Bride Stay Tuned

Stay Tuned…a new writer blesses the blog tomorrow…

This morning I stopped at Panera Bread to grab breakfast.  The line was short so I got my order in right away.  As I was fixing my cup of coffee I overheard a conversation between two men.  Guy A was telling Guy B about living in Bridgeport.  Guy B was shocked, “You live in Bridgeport?!” Guy A jumped to the defense, “Oh, I live on the good side of Bridgeport….there are parts of Bridgeport that are very nice…”   I tuned them out.  I wanted to knock over their coffee.  I’m from Bridgeport, not necessarily the “good side”, but what difference should that make.  I guess it is just a natural reaction to want to defend where you live.  Sometimes I feel like I’ve been doing that all my life.  I was born and raised in Bridgeport.  I lived in the “projects” for the first half of my life.  I’ve seen some stuff but I never felt like it touched me.

 I wanted to speak out to Guy A and Guy B, to momentarily fall into the stereotype that plagues the city of Bridgeport.  My home.  What would that solve?  Nothing.  So I did nothing.  While this is my home, I have to admit that it sometimes scares me.  Bridgeport claimed another child’s life.  My mind races towards thoughts of my nieces and nephew.  Young and impressionable, and I pray that they remain untouched by this city.  I say a prayer for them, for all the children and to their parents that we all come home safe and sound.

Tomorrow, we’ll hear from one of my best friends, Nubian Bride.  She’s the next writer to bless My Pocketful Of Thoughts.  She writes a heartfelt letter to her son in response to the recent lives taken.  You may want to grab a kleenex or two before you read it, just in case.  Make sure to show her some love.

Until then,