I remember the first ever day my son put on goalie gear. It was not too long after everything happened + the equipment draped on his tiny little body. He took one look at the ice, the net, his dad and shook his head. His dad looked at me and shrugged his shoulders in confusion.

“Maybe we shouldn’t push.”

Now. Hockey parents. You KNOW how expensive hockey gear is. Especially GOALIE stuff.

I looked at the small, frail little boy with my heart full of compassion but also with a near empty bank account + said something like, “If you don’t get on that ice

we aren’t buying any more hockey outfits and you will never again see the inside of Wesco.”

And so he got on the ice. And he’s loved every day since. Wins. Yes. Losses, not so much. But mostly? The relationships.

This image is my screen saver.

Isaiah’s battles + victories we have mostly kept private. Despite UNSPEAKABLE loss, he is remarkably full of joy + spirit.

America would want to rob him of curiosity. Of joy. Of hope. Of innocence. Of everything. Because of his skin.

He is 6 feet tall now and despite everything that makes him wonderful, Abby Johnson would consider him threatening. Not beloved. Not quirky. Not witty + certainly not nerdy. Only white sons get to be called nerdy.

Because America offers her white sons a buffet of attributes.

Black and brown sons don’t get this option.

America has removed “whites only” signs from water fountains but not from her heart. There is a “whites only” sign on breathing.

Isaiah has gotten up every time he’s been knocked down... but you don’t get up from bullet holes.

I am terrified. And tired. And angry as hell that we are even still here.

But I keep looking at my screen saver through tears and recognize he has never given up.

And neither will we.

We will lay down our lives to ensure you get to sit at every damn buffet available. And work for other kids to have those options too.