I wrote a post about how I feel, about how I really just want to teach my children to love their neighbor, about how God is love, about how we should all be better than all of this, but I couldn't express my heart with words.
I couldn't make my fingers say what my soul sings about love. I couldn't give narrative to the way I felt when I woke up this morning--having had a nightmare about racism, remembering the tears streaming down Matthew's dream face. I couldn't explain the way my eight-year-old son taught me about love and acceptance when, after explaining Charlottesville to him, he replied simply that, those people are not loving their neighbors as themselves.
I just don't have an answer for how we fight racism. But it starts with educating our own children.
Biracial.
White.
Black.
Biracial.
White.
Biracial.
Black.
Brothers.
Brothers.
Brothers.
Brothers.
This family is everything. We are black and white and mixed and love. No one boy has my heart any more than another. Biological. Adopted. Black. White. Biracial.
Sons.
Period.
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