This piece I wrote in about 2011- 2010, 2011, a time in my life where I was at the height of a very toxic relationship and, um, at the height of fighting for my son's education, and for somebody to, to listen and to make sure that he was going to be successful going forward, and um, spent a good year and a half like, questioning my own sanity because I was not getting the support at home, nor was I getting the support in the community among the people that I was trying to get help for my son from. So, uh, we will go with this.
I know him better than any degree you have obtained, gives you the arrogance to think that you do, can feel the high frequency of his anxiety, the low rumble of his confusion, and the love that presents itself in non-traditional forms like ear grabs, meltdowns, and squeezy hugs. We are connected since conception, communicate through biological texts, scribed on our hearts to one another, words transported through the blood that flows in our veins, texts that I allowed your degrees to erase for the first few years of his life, but he refused to be ignored, took time fighting through fine motor deficit to inscribe his words on my soul.
This time with hope and faith in me until he restored my intuition. Intuition that you call hyper-vigilance, intuition that you would like me to ignore. Because if I don't, I may find you cowering behind the degrees you so proudly display as armor. Let's label him a behavior problem. Blame my parenting. Allow you to push him aside like you have done so many of our black and brown children. Cram him into your statistic of a troubled Latino child from a broken home. Wallowing in your ignorance must be comforting. So comforting that when the same words you use to intimidate those less knowing into silence and complacency come from my mouth, it disrupts your natural balance of things, leaving you anxious and unsure of what's next.