Mom,
I was in art class the first time I was suspended from school. Another kid said, “Your momma loves a coon,” so I colored him black and blue. Got real creative with the crayons, turned the classroom into my playground. Yeah, it was elementary, but that’s no excuse for defending a woman I never knew.
Now, here I am severed from a lifeline that goes back to Genesis, right before the apple fell not too from that tree and lay there another seed. You thought I was a blessing, so why did I grow up thinking I was a curse?
House to house and far from home, too young to understand why I was deserted – why couldn’t you give me those hugs and kisses?
Teach me the woman to love and cherish?
Where was my dad?
Did he not think it was important to teach a boy how to be a man? Or did you feel this system had a better plan?
Let me tell you, Mom, I had to fight to be ahead of my class, only to be graded with A-D-D and separated from my peers. At least that is what my therapist said right before they disguised the drugs as Ritalin and gave me the whole prescription, like I’m not in a school of gymnasts. I started flipping down the wrong path. Nobody even noticed the importance of what was missing, until one day I showed up late for socialism, brought along with me the principle that there’s a knowledge in wisdom for the social misfits, understandings in suspension.
I’m learning from the same corner, the one you met my father on. The only difference is that as I stand with my back to the world listening to the whispers while reading the writings on the wall, I was greeted by the hard knocks, where you’re either going to stand or fall. The lesson above all, that those who choose to pave a way – rise, mastering the mind and strengthening those down on their knees, living as slaves to disease and weakness.
Mom, I’m still standing the test of time, but that’s the piece of you that you passed to me. A heart that beats to its own beat. Which is why my love for blood run’s soul deep, bridging the gap in my travail, building my family.
ABOUT THE WRITER. Once again – I have the privilege of sharing a new writer and their insightful work. There is so much to be learned through this piece by Robert Linton. The idea behind WITS is to share the entire story through writing, not just the aspects that have historically been a part of the conversation. Robert is determined to write and grow as a writer and person. He can be contacted at:
Robert M. Linton #0880370
Eastern CI
P.O. Box 247
Phoenix, MD 21131
