Category: About My Son

In my speech I intend to pay tribute to my son. After showing courage and bravery aboard the Essex, he deserves not only a pat on the back, but he deserves to feel the thanks from the survivors and feel their gratitude towards him. We all know him as the man who saved the crew of the Essex. The first mate who defied his captain to spare his men. These are acts of bravery, and these are what makes my son my son. These are acts of bravery, and that’s what makes him who he is.

“With the new day comes new strength and new thoughts”, as Eleanor Roosevelt said. This is the quote that I taught my son as a child, and through all his hardships this is the quote that he has held most close. Back in 1819, when my son first set off for his voyage, I gave him a diary to record his adventure. Of all the things that he saved from that ship, it was this very diary, which I hold in my hands. On January 22nd, he wrote about a storm. He says: “Despite my better knowledge and decisions, Captain Pollard decided to sail directly into that storm. He claims it was to test the men, but the only thing I see being tested is my patience. After we anchored, I was told that the captain wanted to see me just before dinner. I have yet to see him, I shall go soon. I intend to stand up for myself and the crew of this ship, no matter what happens in that room”. This says to me that he was able to stick up to someone higher ranked than him and do it with courage and determination. Son, your determination to stick up for other people and yourself is one of the first things that shapes the captain that you now are.

After 34 days being stranded, the steadfast crew of the Essex sighted land. After all the hardships they had been through, they had a window of opportunity wide open for them. As Victor Hugo once stated, “Perseverance is the secret of all triumphs”. But, whilst the whole crew contributed, after talking to a few of the sailors on the Essex, they all agreed that my son’s willingness to stay alive, as well as keep everyone else alive, was what made them, and the rest of the crew, persevere through the hardest of times and make it that far. Being the stubborn sailors, that they are, I think that the crew could have survived on their own, but my son kept them all in good spirits and after arriving on the island, understood the crew’s needs and allowed them time alone. This shows that he can understand people and respect their needs, as well as provide those needs for them.

8 years ago, his mother, my wife, died. This period of time was obviously very difficult, and grief-stricken for the both of us. We had been living together after we received the news and neither of us could bring ourselves to believe it. Throughout this time though, my son has shown the most bravery I have ever seen out of anyone I have ever met. Whilst I grieved for my wife, he completed the daily tasks that we both needed to survive. This included washing, cooking, as well as all the other maintenance that needed completing. Whilst it may have been because it gave him something to do, I think it was also because he knew these things needed to be done, and the fact that he was able to keep doing these small things and make others’ lives easier before his own, is what makes him a persevering, selfless and caring man. Margaret Mead once said: “Never believe that a few caring people can’t change the world. For indeed, that’s all who ever have”. This is so true for my son, and this is certainly the best quality about him.

My son is a wonderful man whom I am proud to call my son. In conclusion, I want to pay tribute to his bravery, perseverance, strength and concern for others. He grew up and became a wonderful person.

I have three sons. My oldest Alex and youngest Cam are wonderful boys- sweet and smart and funny. They are such caring boys. I am proud to be their mother. They will do good things in the world. I love them. But then there is my son Ben*. He is fourteen and he terrifies me. I was raped one night while jogging, trying to lose baby weight by my oldest son. The man was eventually caught after he raped a dozen other women. I don’t personally believe in abortion, I used to be a proponent of nurture vs. nature, and we couldn’t be sure whether the baby was the rapist or my husband. So I had the baby. And I loved him. I did nothing different.

But the older he got the more I noticed that something wasn’t right. He never learned to play well with others smaller than him. Those bigger, like his brother, he was fine with. But if you put him with a smaller kid, he’d be unbearably cruel. Punishment only made him be subtle. He still terrorizes his younger brother. He’s in therapy and has been diagnosed with an alphabet of symptoms, he started going when he was 7 and kept stealing lighters. Despite being bright, he does poorly in school- in elementary school, his teacher cried and said that he tortured her. She was a new teacher and he was a big eleven-year-old who taunted her and she thought but couldn’t prove ripped her posters and ruined other things. That was just the beginning. I’m constantly at school for some behavioral problems.

It’s always hearsay and I’ve always told myself that kids can lie.. but now I’m getting called in because he’s become aggressive with girls. And I know what he will become. I met what he’ll become on a running trail. He is broken and I don’t think anything can fix him. He’s so big, I’m now terrified to be left alone with him- because when he has a rage I can’t stop him. He is going to do bad things. I created this monster and he is going to hurt other people. I won’t be able to stop him. I sometimes wish he’d die in a car wreck before he hurts anyone else and while he’s still young enough that people will remember him fondly. I didn’t think confession would be so judgmental. I would never physically harm him.

God help me I love him. He’s not always a monster. I held him as a small baby, I made him cakes every birthday, and I was there for all of it. But if you asked the parent of any school shooter or rapist or murderer, they would tell you they wish their child had died in a car crash before they committed an atrocity. I used to have hope. Even when we had to get rid of our puppy, I thought doctors could help him. I have always been his biggest defender. But I snapped after hearing about his latest transgressions. He pushed a girl up against a locker, in a deserted hallway-he didn’t know her in the slightest and she didn’t know him. It’s the only hallway without cameras. How convenient. He expressed so much remorse when in the office, to the authorities, but dropped it in the car, making callous remarks and blaming the girl. I met his father once. I had to confront the man who did this. He was charming, so charming, and very much like my son to look at. He’s a handsome man. He had a degree. I asked him if he regretted it. He looked extremely surprised and said ‘Of course, I regret getting caught.’ That is my son. He regrets the consequences of his actions but never thinks they’re wrong. He also thinks he’s too smart to get caught. So pardon me if I see a dark future and wish that it would never happen.

The world is full of re-used greetings and recycled grins, like secondhand birthday cards with the names scribbled out. We are obsessed with perfection because we want what we can’t have and aim for what we can’t achieve. People worship morality, while the saints look down and curse our names. Atheists drown their sorrows in holy water and flick bible pages in Church like they flick their cigarettes in a bar. Hypocrisy stains our food, taints our water, and poisons our air.

In a world so backward, I won’t let my son live wrapped in pretension. He’ll live a skeptic, a scarred human face upright and exposed. He won’t be told to be perfect. He’ll be told to be him. My son won’t be like the others.

I’ll teach him. I’ll teach him life isn’t a test, but an experience, and that you can’t fail a memory. I won’t force-feed him a conscience, or tattoo right and wrong across his existence like an ugly birthmark. I’ll teach him it’s okay to crave recognition, to feed on approval, and to dream of popularity. That he’s allowed to breathe love like a former smoker breathes secondhand smoke, if soft sticky affection is the only thing that coats his lungs. I’ll teach him perfection is the ability to accept imperfection, and true courage is the courage to admit you’re not courageous. I won’t mold his beliefs, but give him the clay to shape his own views. His potter’s wheel may stop turning, and he may be left with a clumsy heap of opinions, but his hands won’t stop shaping. I won’t scold at his mistakes, but let my anger simmer gently until forgiveness brews. He’ll learn the most painful thing can be a mirror, but he can tilt it to get his best angle, and if his eyes still don’t sparkle the way others do, it’s because their eyes only sparkle when they’re looking at him.

I’ll teach him falling is allowed, as long as he gets back up because the only scar that remains is the judgment from those who saw you hit the floor. I’ll tell him if he’s afraid to cry, stand outside and let the rain hide his tears. When his wife asks why he loves the rain, to spit and screams, “’cause I’m not clean enough.” I’ll teach him his halo is imprinted on his soul rather than worn on his head. Virginity can’t be bought and impurities exchanged. The only store that sells them is the heart, and there he’ll find a note from the Lord, “out for eternity, see you in hell.” If he turns that note over, he’ll find my own shady handwriting, “God may have left you but I never will.” I’ll teach him he’s not expected to be Jesus; he’s allowed to run on fumes rather than walk on water. He can hang his head and not on the cross.

Instead of turning water into wine or feeding the five thousand, it’s okay to just sit, pissed and hungry. When the world is obsessed with obsessing over others, he’ll know it’s okay to obsess over himself.

When my boy enters the world, I’ll cover his eyes and shade him from the light. The light will only dwindle the older he gets. A light that seeps into a soul like paint on cracked pavement, only to erode from life’s inevitable weathering. He’ll ask why there’s no light at the end of the tunnel, and I’ll tell him he’s already reached the finish.

My son will know he’s no gift to this earth. He’ll know he’s my son.

Not perfect.

But mine.

It was June 15, 2018, at approximately 6:52 pm l can still remember the weather vividly it wasn’t blazing hot outside but it was warm about 70 degrees and the sun was starting to set. That was when my whole life changed.. for the better l found out l was pregnant. I was scared, scared of what my family would say or think, sacred because l was only 18. 18 and in college, barely working and just getting my life started. Fast forward to July 11th l finally got to see my baby at the ob-gyn and hear the heartbeat at this time l didn’t know if it was a girl or boy l was only 9 weeks and a few days. I remember being at the doctor l had so many thoughts running through my head. How will l do this, what kind of mom l would be, how my kid would look, how l would raise him, what he would wear for the first time, his first words I had numerous thoughts. Fast forward to August 15th the day l found out l was having a boy.

l was so excited because my significant other wanted a boy. We spoke it into existence Almost every day we would call the baby a boy. As time went on the feelings l had began to grow for my son nothing but love and my thoughts started to be positive. As time went on my stomach started to grow and grow and l would feel my son kick, then came the baby shower. The baby shower was so enjoyable all my friends and family came together to celebrate someone who was soon to be here, at this point l was adjusting to the thought of having a kid, the thought of being a mom, and the thought of doing things with a big belly and just making some life-altering changes.

The anticipation of having a baby was so surreal because l just wanted to be able to hug my son and kiss my son. On Feb 2nd is when the most shocking thing happened. I went in for a regular doctor’s appointment/check-up, earlier that morning l was rushing so l wouldn’t be late for my appointment because my dr office had a policy of if you were late by like 10 min you would have to reschedule. All the rushing resulted in me having anxiety. I finally get to the door and the technician who took my vitals and my weight told me my blood pressure was higher than it normally was, they took my blood pressure 3 times and told me if it was high the last time l would have to go upstairs, well it was very high and l had to go to the er part of the hospital called labor and delivery. The doctor began to talk to me and told me l had preeclampsia and for some who don’t know what that is it is complications due to high blood pressure which can be fatal for the babies and the mothers and l already knew a lot about preeclampsia just from reading books about pregnancy and doing research, the doctor didn’t tell me that my son wasn’t getting oxygen but I knew when you have preeclampsia the babies don’t get oxygen so the moment she said l had preeclampsia I told her l wanted to have my baby even if l had to have an emergency c section.

I couldn’t fathom waiting 9 months for my son and then something happening to my son. The hospital room was the usual, a tv on the wall, an uncomfortable bed, a table that folded out from the wall, a couch, a painting over the bed which consisted of beach scenery, a cart filled with unknown necessities the dr needed. the bed pad smelling of plastic, midwives standing next to me telling me I was doing an amazing job, the smell of the gloves from the dr hands as she was telling me to push she could feel my son’s head. They began the process of labor the gave me medicine to start my contractions which led to popping my water and speeding up my contractions. I can remember having such bad contractions for such a long period of time, this is the by far the worst pain I have experienced in a way it makes you almost paralyzed because the pain is so sharp all you can really do is just lay down and breathe and a contraction is a shortening of the uterine muscles occurring in intervals. They gave me an epidural which is anisethea they put a long needle in your spine and the doctor hit my nerves the first 2 times she did it and the 3rd try was a success I was frantic I didn’t know what to expect and I had some of the women in my family tell me stories but it doesn’t compare to actually going through it. The tears, the pain, the exhaustion.

I was in labor for about 9 hours. This is a day l would never forget, I had both of my parents there to support me and although at first, they were really upset they got over it and motivated me in the hospital room. 10:46 pm l had my beautiful baby boy l have never cried so much in life. The wait was over I could finally hug my son and tell him how much l love him the love that l felt from him was so pure so unconditional I felt as though he loved me as much as I loved him or maybe more because I know I needed him more then he needed me. When l looked ln his big hazel eyes he gave me a sense of peace and relief .he made me the happiest person in the world every emotion I felt that day was worth it, I now had a new title and new responsibilities a title I could share with many different women being s mother. it was the best feeling in the world l can’t really describe it to someone who has never experienced it but l felt so blessed l felt so much joy in my heart I felt like the luckiest person in the world because most women can not have kids due to health reasons or infertility.

The Not My Son campaign continues into its third year to promote anti-crime awareness among young African-American males, ages 12 to 24, and their families in the south St. Petersburg area during the summer.

In late 2015, an occurrence of multiple violent crimes took the lives of seven young men in less than two months. Rev. Kenny Irby, director of Community Intervention for the St. Petersburg Police Department, and Mayor Rick Kriseman made a commitment to the community to “turn tragic situations like these around and bring positive opportunities to younger kids.” Irby said.

Since 2016, the program starts its Safe Summer campaign beginning in June and continues every Friday until early August. The group is made up of police officers, city officials, and residents. Each Friday, groups go door-to-door to a different area in south St. Pete to bring awareness of positive encouragement and action to help keep young adults and children safe.

“The city cannot do it alone. It requires a team,” said Mayor Kriseman at the canvassing event on July 6 at Unity Temple of Truth Church near the Campbell Park neighborhood.

In addition to yard signs, the group hands out Not My Son pledge cards–one side for youths and the other for the parents–which, Irby said, “serve as the conversation starter for the parents and the children.”

“Through our children, we can save future lives,” said Thomas Richards, a local resident who volunteered his Friday.

Kriseman was joined by Police Chief Anthony Holloway, officers, and volunteers as they walked the neighborhood to discuss issues and encourage improvement.

Irby has coordinated the campaign for two years, along with several youth outreach programs in the area. His primary focus for the campaign is “an opportunity to build relationships in the community…during times of calm.”

The Not My Son campaign is the first part of the My Brother’s and Sister’s Keeper (MBSK) program, proposed by Mayor Kriseman in 2015 based on President Obama’s initiative to help the youth find opportunities in education and the workforce.

Other MBSK programs include the Cohort of Champions youth training program, the My Sister’s Keeper Just Girls Talk Conference, and Youth Development Grants, which award funding for local non-profit organizations that service at-risk youths.

According to city officials and police officers, activities such as Not My Son and Park, Walk, and Talk have created better interactions within the community, along with a lower crime rate, in the last few years.

“The best change is people expect us now,” Irby said. He noted that residents familiar with the campaign would ask for new yard signs or talk of enrolling their child in the Cohorts of Champion program.

“This is an indicator of a growing relationship.”

Officer Derrick Nelson, who has canvases several times, noted that through the program, residents, especially children, seem more warmed up to talking with the police.

“Open communication like this has helped us answer the community’s questions,” Chief Holloway said.

Irby stated that the visible presence of the city government helps to boost morale.

“Giving people opportunities is a positive thing and a necessary thing for our community to be all that it can be,” Irby said.

The group’s next canvassing event takes place July 13 at the historic Bethel AME Church, 912 Third Ave. N, at 6:30 p.m.