Growing up in the hood, where every day felt like walking on a tightrope, I never truly grasped just how crucial my mama’s prayers were. It wasn’t just about the trouble we faced or the environment we lived in—though those were tough enough. It was the constant, underlying fear of what could happen to me simply because I was a young Black man.
My mama prayed through every moment of uncertainty, through the nights when gunshots echoed down the block and the days when trouble seemed like a constant shadow. Her prayers were like a shield, an unspoken promise that I would be protected even when the world around me felt so dangerous.
She saw more than the daily struggles; she saw the potential threats that came with being Black in America. Her faith was a refuge, a way to cope with the anxiety and to hope for a better future for me. In a place where everything felt uncertain, her prayers gave me a sense of stability and protection that was invaluable.
Now that I’m older, I realize just how important that was. I understand the weight of her prayers, the way they fought against the odds and tried to keep me safe. In a world where being a young Black man can feel like a vulnerability, her prayers were a reminder of the love and hope that existed beyond the daily grind. They were a testament to her strength and her unwavering belief that I was worth protecting, no matter what.
I love you Mama!
