Go and hug your "Michael" by Maya Angelou.

Yesterday I cried watching the Michael Jackson memorial. I cried for a littleBlack boy who felt the world didn’t understand him.

I cried for a little black who spent his adulthood chasing his childhood.And I thought about all the young black boys out there who may feelthat the world doesn’t understand them.

The ones who feel that the world does not understand their baggy jeans,their swagger, their music, their anger, their struggles, their fears or thechip on their shoulder.
I worry that my son, may too, one day feel lonely in a wide, wide world.

I cried for young children of all colors who may live their life feelinglike a misfit, feeling like no one understands their perspective, or theirsoul. What a burden to carry.
As a mother, I cried for Katherine Jackson because no mother shouldever bury a child. Period. And I think about all the pain, tears andsleepless nights that she must have endured seeing her baby boy ininner pain, seeing him struggle with his self- esteem, and his insecuritiesand to know that he often felt unloved. Even while the world loved him deeply.
How does it feel to think that the unconditional love we give as mothers just isn’t enough to make our children feel whole?I wonder if she still suffers thinking, “What more could I have done?”Even Moms of music legends aren’t immune to Mommy guilt, I suppose.

When Rev. Al Sharpton (who always delivers one “Awesome” funeralspeech), said to Michael’s children “ Your Daddy was not Strange … .It was strange what your daddy had to deal with” I thought of all of thestrange things of the world that my children would have to deal with.Better yet, the things I hope they won’t ever have to deal with anymore.

And as a mother raising a young black boy, I feel recommitted and yet alittle confused as to how to make sure my son is sure enough withinhimself to take on the world. Especially a “strange” one. To love himselfenough to know that even when the world doesn’t understand you, triesto force you into it’s mold or treats you unkindly, you are still beautiful,strong, and Black. How do I do that?

Today, I’m taking back “childhood” as an inalienable right for every brownlittle one. In a world that makes children into “booty-Shakin”, mini- adultslong before their time, I’m reclaiming the playful, the innocent, run-aroundoutside, childhood as the key ingredient in raising confident adults.Second, I will not rest until my little black boy, My Michael, knows that hisbroad nose is beautiful, his chocolately brown skin is beautiful, and his thickhair is beautiful.
And nothing or no one can take that away from him.

Now, ain’t we Bad, ain’t we Black, and ain’t we Beautiful!
Maya Angelou