I was a 22-year-old carefree Black girl going to school at a local community college and working part-time at a sports arena called the Rose Garden.
I have never looked at life through rose-colored glasses, but always enjoyed the ride of self-evolution.
On one of my nightclub adventures, I met a man at a downtown club on reggae night. Tall, Colombian and Nicaraguan, street-savvy and swag-rich, it was no wonder his nickname was Goldy. Little did I know a few months into our relationship we would create you, my Aztec-African warrior. The same day I found your imprint in my womb, your father got entangled in the criminal justice system, and his life and ours got wrapped up in it.
I was distraught and shocked that I was going to be a mother, and a Black single one at that. This was not a part of my destiny, I thought. But here I was with a sweet prince to care for.
I have known no greater love than the one I have for you and the strength I have received from being a mama to you. Lately, I’ve noticed that you are longing for your days of adulting. Trust me: It is not all that it is cracked up to be. Yes, at 16, you are learning more about what you want to do and making that known. I want you to know that I have had to fight tooth and nail for everything I have. Nothing was just given freely. Yet I’m free!