Brianna Kehrer is a proud mother to an aspiring superhero. She is an upstate New York native and has been writing poetry for 20 years. Brianna enjoys propagating plants, walks in the woods, performing poetry, and battling bad guys. She received a Bachelor’s Degree in English from the University at Albany, and has been published in Up the River.
Lies I tell my 3 year old son: A 7 part series
1 – “The arcade is closed.” I don’t know how to tell him we hover over the poverty line, which means if we go to the arcade today, we won’t be eating dinner for the next two nights.
2 – “There’s no such thing as monsters.” I don’t know how to tell him about the 199 registered monsters living in the 12308 zip code driving past the playground in a van as big as their hard ons for little boys.
3 – “Caillou isn’t on. In fact I think they canceled that whiny bald headed Canadian. Because back in my day, Sesame Street was on at 12 and if you missed it you were watching Charlie Rose at 1.”
4 – “That creepy elf on a shelf is watching you.” I don’t know how to tell him if he is bad he will still get the same amount of toys as if he is good. And I’m the only one watching him.
5 – “The tiny hole in sleeve of your spiderman hoody is where the webs shoot out of.” I don’t know how to tell him I got it used at the salvation army for $.99.
6 – “Law enforcement is here to protect and serve.”
I don’t know how to tell him about the unarmed men who died at the hands of those who vowed to protect and serve.
Of Daniel Shaver
Of Walter Scott
Of Laquan McDonald
Of Brendon Glenn
Of Eric Harris
Of Oscar Grant III
Of Keith Childress
Of Andrew Finch
7 – When he asks me why his friends skin is a different color. I lie and say something generic like “our skin may look different on the outside, but were all the same on the inside.”
I don’t know how to tell him that his friend’s roots were forced into the soil of cotton fields.
I don’t know how to tell him that his friend’s ancestors were sold as “bucks and wenches” alongside cattle and farm equipment.
I don’t know how to tell him half of infants born into slavery died within the first year of life. And that the ones that survived were weaned from their mother’s breast in a matter of weeks and fed gruel, so the fact that his friend is here means from infancy to death his forefathers never stopped fighting for their lives.
I don’t know how to tell him that his friend’s parents, grandparents, and great grandparents spent their lives being stigmatized and judged based on the color of their skin and not the content of their character.
I don’t know how to tell him less than a hundred years ago, his friend wouldn’t have been allowed to drink from the same water fountain.
I don’t know how to tell him about the trials.
Of Till vs. Bryant
Of Plessy vs ferguson
Of Brown vs board
Of Browder vs Gayle
Of Martin vs Zimmerman
Of Tubman vs the fugitive slave act
I don’t know how to tell him that 250 years after the abolishment of slavery, his friend’s race still require a movement to prove to racist white people that their lives matter too.
I will wait until he’s 4