Give Out, But Don't Give Up!

Today I got a phone call from the principal at my son's school. It seems my son can't seem to make it to school on time. This is extremely hard to understand considering we live two blocks away from the school. In addition to reporting my son's excessive tardiness, he proceeded to inform me that my son had an attitude problem that he could no longer tolerate. "Anytime I say something to him, he immediately gets on the defense." I didn't say anything to him, I just listened. But I was saying to myself, join the club. Lately my son has been smelling his underarm. Backtalking, sucking his teeth and challenging everything I say to him. For months we have been battling. Earlier this year he spent 45 days in the alternative school, stole some shades out of Target, and ran away from home (for only 2 hours). I have tried Big Brothers. I have tried arguing and cussing and fussing. I've taken away all priviledges. I've reached out to every male friend, platonic and otherwise, for advice, understanding and whatever else they could offer. To date, nothing has worked. No words have gotten through.

But this morning, I couldn't do anything but fall down on my knees and pray for him. It hurts so bad as a mother to see him slipping through my fingers. I look at him and see him trying to make the transition from boy to man. He's struggling to emerge into a set of shoes he ain't ready to fill and there is no one here to help him but me. For whatever reason, he doesn't want to accept my guidance. So when I was crying out to God this morning, I had to tell him that I give out, but I won't give up. I have given out all the advice I can give to him. I have given out more tears than a little bit. I have given my heart, my soul; anything and everything I know how to give. But I won't give up on him. I know it's hard for young black men out here. I know it's hard growing up without a father. But he is too gifted and too talented to just give in to the temptation of being a thug or another statistic. I said to him last summer, "Do you know that there are a million niggas in prison and only 400,000 make it to college?" He just looked at me. "Which number are you going to be in son?" He told me he didn't know. All I could do was shake my head. I have realized, with much dismay, if he doesn't want more, me wanting more for him is a moot point.

But you know, at the end of the day, when all is said and done, the hardest thing for me to deal with is that I am the one that caused him to have to grow up without a father. I think that's why it took me so long to let God have it. I was trying to fix him myself because I felt like I was the cause of him being broken.



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