I'm not happy with the way we raise our black boys.
Don't like the fact that he learned to hide from the cops
well before he knew how to read.
Angrier that his survival depends more on his ability
to deal with the "authorities" than it does his own literacy.
"Get up," I yell at him.
"In this car, in this family, we are not afraid of the law."
I wonder if he can hear the uncertainty in my voice.
Is today the day he learns
that uncle is willing to lie to him,
that I am more human than hero?