There ARE Young Black Men Who Are Not Incarcerated and Who Are Not DEADBEATS...
Coming out of the grocery store the other day I saw something that made me actually stop for a moment. It's embarrassing now to think about it, but it hit me so hard that as I walked away I felt the burn of unshed tears. It wasn't anything big, or grand; it was something that I'm sure people see every day of the week and never think twice about. This time though, with all the depressive things going on in the world, for me this was like a tiny little flame burning against a strong wind, burning steady and burning bright, despite all the mud being thrown at it.
There was a young man standing outside; there wasn't anything remarkable about him, (other than the fact that I couldn't see his undershorts, which with most young men today you can because their jeans sag so low!) or maybe I just didn't notice because of what he was doing. In one hand he held a small bottle, and he seemed to be crooning very softly, not to himself, but to the young baby he was feeding. Now, it's been quite some time since I held a newborn, so I'm not sure I could be accurate in judging one's age, but if pressed, I would say the child was between 3 and 6 months old. Not an age where they lie quietly most of the time! When I came out he was feeding her; I had several heavy bags so I set them down and just stood watching him.
That's the picture I should have captured, the way he crooned (or talked, I saw lips moving but couldn't hear him) to her and gently rocked her with a happy smile. I could only imagine how she must have been looking up at him to make him beam at her the way he was. He must have felt someone looking at him because he suddenly looked up and around; when he saw me I was kind of embarrassed to have been caught staring at him like that, so I hurriedly grabbed my bags and went to the car. Once inside though, I couldn't forget what an awesome picture that was, a picture of one of the good black men out here, one that is completely different from the stereotypical brush that brothers have been painted with. I began to get angry, thinking to myself "Why do we never see this on the evening news, or in the newspaper, instead of the reports we always see of a brother lying on the ground with handcuffs on, his pants down around his thighs, and a cop's foot in his back?" Why are people always posting on Facebook when someone gets busted (not knowing or caring what effect that could have on that young man's life!) When people hear those reports they act like it's normal, it's expected! To see someone like this young man, and his child is so unexpected that it catches us off guard (and God help me, I'm guilty of it too!) .
I realized that there was a way that I could show a little piece of the reality, rather than more of the stereotype. I went back with my phone in my hand, and I must have had a strange look on my face, because as he watched me approach he began to be concerned. I could tell by the way his arm tightened imperceptibly around the baby, and by the fact that his smile seemed to be forced.
As I got closer I began to speak quickly, to let him know that I wasn't some crazy. I explained to him that I have a blog, and I wanted to post about him, and his baby, to combat the stereotyped picture the world has of black men, especially young ones. I told him that I wanted to take a couple of pictures of him and the baby, to put in the post. He still looked a bit puzzled, but he agreed. I didn't ask his name, or the baby's, (and if I knew them I wouldn't post them) and I told him that I'd blot their faces out if he wanted me to; fortunately for me he said no, that was okay.
I think I was truly blessed that day to see something beautiful, something that shouldn't be so rare that we feel compelled to remark on it when we see it.
However, since society has determined that 'black male' is synonymous with 'deadbeat dad', since 'they' paint black men with the wide brush of stereotypical negatives instead of admitting that there are spaces in that brush, here's a glimpse at one of those spaces. One of those spaces where black men have sole custody of small children, know how to braid a 7 year old girl's hair for school, men that are home for dinner at night (or at least before the children go to bed because they worked late), and this space, a space where on a Sunday afternoon a black man takes the hungry baby outside to feed and quiet her, while Mommy finishes the shopping with their older child, after which they all walk home, together.
