disorder. Now he is totally swept up in what his friends are doing, and unfortunately they’re also up to no good.
Didn’t black people always send their children to the South to give them some training or to get them straightened out? I’m following a tradition, or am I? Arizona isn’t the South and my brother has problems of his own. This is a Hail Mary pass and even as I put Daudi on the plane I had my doubts. My brother has problems of his own. Right now he is sober but I don’t know how long that will last.
Daudi looked so small in his long lanky body and his eyes glistened big and wet. What am I doing? Am I doing this to please Chaka? Truth be told, Daudi and Chaka never bonded. In the beginning it never occurred to me that he wouldn’t love my son. He loved me and promised to take care of my son. I took him at his word. But it wouldn’t be so easy. Chaka is not a child’s person. He barks orders and expects little people to obey. He doesn’t play or get down and dirty with children, so I guess that there was very little bonding for Daudi and him to do.
But I am Daudi’s mother and I am responsible for him. He came into this world fighting and had an uphill battle healthwise. I remember saying to the doctor when I had to have surgery while he was still in my womb, “Please save my baby.” He was so tiny when he arrived but he was fighting and I just knew that he would be this incredible child. I was right, but something happened.
I leave the airport feeling so sad. It is not a good day for me. In my heart, I know that I have let my son down. Am I doing this to lessen the stress in a house that is already filled with quiet tension? Am I doing this instead ofdoing something else, something more radical, like … what?
Malo will miss his brother. Will this make it better for Malo?
I am so full of doubt today when I should be more positive, but looking at Daudi walk down the hall to the plane reminded me when I put him in nursery school when he was three years old. It was in Buffalo and it was his first day. I dropped him off and he stood at the gate crying for me as I walked away. At least then, despite my aching heart, I knew that I would return to get him that evening. He isn’t so sure now as I leave him; what is he thinking?
What am I thinking? I wish I could really talk to Chaka. But it is all pronouncements and sermons. He doesn’t have time to really think about Daudi and doesn’t give Malo any time either.
I can’t dwell on this now but I want to go home and sleep for seven days and seven nights. I don’t know how to deal with yet another pain. I want to scream while I dance and dance while I scream. I want to forget that pain can be so intimate. I want to travel beside Daudi on his collar, whispering in his ear, soothing his shoulders, kissing his cheeks, and telling him, “I love you.”
If nothing else, I am a warrior. I must get stronger so I can be there for my sons. I have to resist going into a black hole and never seeing light. My strength is my light and both of my sons need me.
I can’t say what the weather is like today or how the sky is tinged. All I can say is that I took Daudi to the airportto put him on a plane to Arizona. He cried, and as I walked away, the tears that were raining inside of me began to fill up the spaces in my eyes and then envelop my face until I couldn’t see. I can’t say how the weather is today but I know that inside me, it is raining.
God, give me strength.
Amina
8
Relapse
My mom’s back from the hospital in the same nightgown she left in. She’s in her chair, on the horn with my uncle, all the way reclined like she’s at the dentist getting teeth pulled.
Outside is gusty, wind whirling through trees, leaves clapping. The wind slaps the house like it stole something. Slams the screen door into the jamb over and over again. Howls through the halls, haunting.
“He relapsed,” she whispers to me, palming the mouthpiece. I sit on her bed
Didn’t black people always send their children to the South to give them some training or to get them straightened out? I’m following a tradition, or am I? Arizona isn’t the South and my brother has problems of his own. This is a Hail Mary pass and even as I put Daudi on the plane I had my doubts. My brother has problems of his own. Right now he is sober but I don’t know how long that will last.
Daudi looked so small in his long lanky body and his eyes glistened big and wet. What am I doing? Am I doing this to please Chaka? Truth be told, Daudi and Chaka never bonded. In the beginning it never occurred to me that he wouldn’t love my son. He loved me and promised to take care of my son. I took him at his word. But it wouldn’t be so easy. Chaka is not a child’s person. He barks orders and expects little people to obey. He doesn’t play or get down and dirty with children, so I guess that there was very little bonding for Daudi and him to do.
But I am Daudi’s mother and I am responsible for him. He came into this world fighting and had an uphill battle healthwise. I remember saying to the doctor when I had to have surgery while he was still in my womb, “Please save my baby.” He was so tiny when he arrived but he was fighting and I just knew that he would be this incredible child. I was right, but something happened.
I leave the airport feeling so sad. It is not a good day for me. In my heart, I know that I have let my son down. Am I doing this to lessen the stress in a house that is already filled with quiet tension? Am I doing this instead ofdoing something else, something more radical, like … what?
Malo will miss his brother. Will this make it better for Malo?
I am so full of doubt today when I should be more positive, but looking at Daudi walk down the hall to the plane reminded me when I put him in nursery school when he was three years old. It was in Buffalo and it was his first day. I dropped him off and he stood at the gate crying for me as I walked away. At least then, despite my aching heart, I knew that I would return to get him that evening. He isn’t so sure now as I leave him; what is he thinking?
What am I thinking? I wish I could really talk to Chaka. But it is all pronouncements and sermons. He doesn’t have time to really think about Daudi and doesn’t give Malo any time either.
I can’t dwell on this now but I want to go home and sleep for seven days and seven nights. I don’t know how to deal with yet another pain. I want to scream while I dance and dance while I scream. I want to forget that pain can be so intimate. I want to travel beside Daudi on his collar, whispering in his ear, soothing his shoulders, kissing his cheeks, and telling him, “I love you.”
If nothing else, I am a warrior. I must get stronger so I can be there for my sons. I have to resist going into a black hole and never seeing light. My strength is my light and both of my sons need me.
I can’t say what the weather is like today or how the sky is tinged. All I can say is that I took Daudi to the airportto put him on a plane to Arizona. He cried, and as I walked away, the tears that were raining inside of me began to fill up the spaces in my eyes and then envelop my face until I couldn’t see. I can’t say how the weather is today but I know that inside me, it is raining.
God, give me strength.
Amina
8
Relapse
My mom’s back from the hospital in the same nightgown she left in. She’s in her chair, on the horn with my uncle, all the way reclined like she’s at the dentist getting teeth pulled.
Outside is gusty, wind whirling through trees, leaves clapping. The wind slaps the house like it stole something. Slams the screen door into the jamb over and over again. Howls through the halls, haunting.
“He relapsed,” she whispers to me, palming the mouthpiece. I sit on her bed
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