His Pink Mama

A pure and honest perspective of my color, such a precious and refreshing gift.

It’s not about race, or ancestry, or history’s tears. It doesn’t pertain to finding the soul’s song even while the body is enslaved, or the choice to sit or fight, or what part of the bus “my” people occupied. It has nothing to do with the most evil part of humanity, wrapped up neatly in a halloween type costume made of bedsheets, or the rapid and violent shift from individual to group personality…

No, this is so much more important to me. An observation made, through the big and brown, beautiful and innocent eyes of my three year old. An objective comparison, unsoiled by society, unstained by the past’s mistakes, untouched by the hate of those that came before us.

We wrestled together on the family room floor – he, his younger brother, and myself. As I gently rolled around with them, getting them to believe they are stronger than they actually are, and they had me pinned on my back, all the arms and legs of them climbing and squirming onto the front of my body, something caught my eye. It was visible through the sliding patio door, in the lowest part of the western sky. The sun was setting and the the blue that had just been so prevalent was now taken over by the most amazing and glowing pink.

“D’Lo! Look at the beautiful sky…it’s pink!” I said to him. He jumped up off of my belly and scampered to the glass, quickly shadowed by his chubby, little brother. His eyes sparkled against the unusual sunset and a smile crept across his perfect face.

“Yes, it is pink…just like you, Mama!”

I’ve said it a thousand times, so once more won’t hurt – I love you so much, D’Lo!