Son, if I held this world in one hand and you in the other, I'd take you. I know not everything I do makes it look that way, but life can get pretty complicated pretty quick. You are my own child, and though I love this world with every fibre of my being, you mean more. Love means more.
The gang steps forward with confidence. They don't want me, they want Darwin and one look tells them he's not my flesh. They expect easy pickings, that I'll give him up without a fight. My brain is racing for ways out. There are only four of them, I could cut them down and be home in time for lunch but what about Darwin? I don't need him traumatized like that. He's a gentle flower, loving, caring, and he's been through enough in his short life. But alive is better than dead so I tell him to close his eyes like when we play hide 'n' find. I stow him between my legs and realize just how foolish I've been. I could be cutting down three while the fourth takes him hostage, the odds are on my side but I like surety when it comes to my son. I'm not going to get it, I tense my legs and draw out my blade. I say a prayer that he keeps his eyes shut tight. Then from no-where another gang encircles the other.
Found in Darwin's Ghost - first draft, authored by .
In the trader's market Darwin stays close. I used to leave him behind, he's safer by far at the old bank, but he has to learn how to trade. I speak to him roughly. Advertising an emotional bond is just giving your competition a way to break you, he knows this and he plays along. The contemptuous looks I used to get have changed. Their eyes flick from me to him and back again, he's strong now, not a liability but an advantage and they want him. No longer do I have to worry about the kidnappers and the filthy cannibals but now every adult who's looking at their own physical demise wants his muscle. Anyone gets too close and I butt in as if I'm protecting my servant. If they actually try something they'll find out how far I will go to keep him safe and so will I. Under that strong body he's still a kid and it kills me that all they see is a commodity they want to acquire. He's my son- my only son - and I am the only mother he recalls.
Found in Darwin's Ghost - first draft, authored by .
My son isn't a sacrifice, he's my son. He isn't there for you to abuse and use as a pawn in your sick games, he's my son. Maybe you underestimated my love for him. That's your mistake. You make him hurt and you think there's forgiveness for you? There is not. Not from me. You cover up your errors on the back of a child, a God given child, and I hate you for it. You have all the integrity of worms. Stand up and be accountable for your mistakes or know that you are not even a sentient being in my eyes. People who are worth anything don't make the good to suffer to placate the violent. Good people stand up for what they know is right and are ready to sacrifice only themselves, nothing more. I love my son and there is no dollar value you can place on that.
Know that being my son means something. It means I will protect you to the very last vestige of my power. I will stand before you should danger come your way, beside you as you find your footing, and only behind when you are ready to be a man. I won't ever leave you. Not ever. Though these bones will age my love is eternal, so am I, so are you. I hope you never felt you had to earn my love, to prove yourself worthy, you never did. I was there when you came into the world, I saw the divine spark that is your soul kindle in your newborn eyes. Whatever challenges come your way, I know the real you, the one inside, the one that is my son.
My son is a more gentle soul that he'll ever let on, a man must have his pride. He is courageous, astute and willing to think before he acts. He has balance, perseverance and intelligence. Some may think me bias, that he can't possibly be all those things, yet he is. Of my son I am proud without reservation, and if that is a sin, then so be it.
It is a beautiful thing to watch a well loved son grow into a man of integrity, capable of giving strong love. To see him spread his wings, do right by those in his life, and strive to make the world a better place is the finest achievement a parent can have, equal only to raising a daughter with the same qualities. Any other achievement by comparison is hollow: a fancy home, expensive clothing, an elite career. Love is the only real thing in this crazy world, the only thing that is true sanity. So when I look upon my son I see the achievement that made all the pain of my life worth while. He is a blessing to everyone lucky enough to know him, just as he is a blessing to me.
Through a swirl of sickening fears comes my mother's voice, casual and light. As usual, I can't hide my problems for more than a few seconds; but what can she do? Fight the police? Alter the minds of the masses? Help them see me just as I am - a teenager, a boy, stressed about homework, deadlines and making money at my part-time job. How can I tell her that my biggest fear isn't drugs or gang indoctrination, but those who swore to protect and serve? She's worked all her life to give us a good home, food and more. We've never been left wanting for hugs, smiles, laughter and acceptance in these four walls. But out there...out there I'm marked by my black skin and afro-hair. My white friends are envied for their physiques and I'm feared. Somehow my muscles threaten and theirs protect. What did I ever do? How can you prove a negative - that you're not bad? So I turn and flash a boyish smile, "Nothin' Mam, just thinking about math."