(NAME-MCE) Go and hug your "Michael", by Maya Angelou

[Aukram Burton]

Go and hug your "Michael",  by Maya Angelou


Yesterday I cried watching the Michael Jackson memorial. I cried for a  
little black boy who felt the world didn't understand him.

I cried for a little black boy who spent his adulthood chasing his  
childhood.

And I thought about all the young black boys out there who may feel  
that the world doesn’t understand them. The ones who feel that the  
world does not understand their baggy jeans, their swagger, their  
music, their anger, their struggles, their fears or the chip on their  
shoulder.

I worry that my son, may too, one day feel lonely in a wide, wide  
world. I cried for young children of all colors who may live their  
life feeling like a misfit, feeling like no one understands their  
perspective, or their soul. What a burden to carry.

As a mother, I cried for Katherine Jackson because no mother should  
ever bury a child. Period. And I think about all the pain, tears and  
sleepless nights that she must have endured seeing her baby boy in  
inner pain, seeing him struggle with his self- esteem, and his  
insecurities and to know that he often felt unloved. Even while the  
world loved him deeply.

How does it feel to think that the unconditional love we give as  
mothers just isn’t enough to make our children feel whole?

I wonder if she still suffers thinking, “What more could I have done?”  
Even Moms of music legends aren’t immune to Mommy guilt, I suppose.  
When Rev. Al Sharpton (who always delivers one “Awesome” funeral  
speech), said to Michael’s children “ Your Daddy was not  
Strange . . . . It was strange what your daddy had to deal with” I  
thought of all of the strange things of the world that my children  
would have to deal with. Better yet, the things I hope they won’t ever  
have to deal with anymore. And as a mother raising a young black boy,  
I feel recommitted and yet a little confused as to how to make sure my  
son is sure enough within himself to take on the world. Especially a  
“strange” one. To love himself enough to know that even when the world  
doesn’t understand you, tries to force you into it’s mold or treats  
you unkindly, you are still beautiful, strong, and Black. How do I do  
that?

Today, I’m taking back “childhood” as an inalienable right for every  
brown little one.  In a world that makes children into “booty-Shakin”,  
mini- adults long before their time,  I’m reclaiming the playful, the  
innocent, run-around outside, childhood as the key ingredient in  
raising confident adults.

Second, I will not rest until my little black boy, My Michael, knows  
that his broad nose is beautiful, his chocolately brown skin is  
beautiful, and his thick hair is beautiful.

And nothing or no one, can take that away from him. Now, ain’t we Bad,  
ain’t we Black, and ain’t we Beautiful!

Maya Angelou
July, 2009