Letter To DSBW's Mom

Dear DSBW's Mom,

You don't know who I am because you have never met me. But you have been on my mind lately. You never went to Parent Teacher Night or Report Card Pick-Up. So you never knew that your son had nearly straight A's and received one of the highest marks on the State Standardized Test. You probably never knew that your son was also a talented athlete, fast, and respected by his peers. You probably didn't know either that he was singled out for his smarts and speed and recruited by gang leaders at age 11. And you don't know that I have long since moved away. But I think about your son all the time. I was DSBW's 6th grade teacher.

Several months after 9/11, President Bush introduced America's Fund for Afghan Children and encouraged school students to each send a dollar addressed to the white house to help provide food and medicine to children in Afghanistan. As a teacher, I thought it would be a perfect service-learning opportunity. We spent several days learning about Afghanistan, the Taliban, world poverty, war, and the unique liberties we enjoy in our own country. DSBW seemed thoughtful but bothered by the whole thing. When I finally read the request from President Bush to send a dollar, DSBW blurted out, "Why? Why should I? Ain't nobody sendin' me a dollar!" It didn't dawn on him that the government actually gives him a dollar everyday to pay for his lunch.
The next day when the other students brought dollars, DSBW showed up with a hand-written letter addressed to President Bush. The letter was thoughtful and truthful. He explained, in compelling detail, the problems facing inner-city America and argued that fixing the streets and communities in our own country should be more important than sending money to Afghanistan. He described the crime and the violence in your neighborhood. He knew exactly how gangs work and the kind of money they hand off. But mostly he wrote about you. You couldn't keep a job. And yet DSBW wouldn't see you for weeks at a time. Until you'd show up at his Auntie's house bruised and begging for money. You needed medical attention for your addictions and other health problems. But he knew how impossible it was. (I can recall when he himself lived with an abscessed tooth for weeks when your Medicaid card was stolen. He came to class day after day in excruciating pain until his Auntie finally took him to the emergency room where his tooth was extracted.) Life on the street had beaten you. You stole from him. You lied to him. You abandoned him. And yet he didn't want to help a single person in this world unless he could help you first.

You probably don't know what happened to that letter. DSBW typed it on the computer in my classroom (the only computer available to students in the entire school). I helped him correct the grammar and punctuation, and (as my husband suggested) I readdressed it to our State Senator - who would be more likely to actually read it. In fact, he wrote DSBW back!

You should ask his auntie if she still has the letter addressed to DSBW from Senator Barack Obama. I think she framed it. And who knows? It might be quite valuable someday.

But the presidential election isn't the only reason you have been on my mind. I have also been thinking about you because I have been terribly judgmental. Back then, I disliked and judged you for everything you missed and everything you messed up. I perceived your absence from DSBW's life as a sign of selfishness and disinterest. But that was before I became a mother. That was before I could even comprehend, let alone appreciate, the value of a two-parent household- especially the impact of a good dad.

How were you supposed to respect yourself when in your whole life, you didn't ever see a man respect a woman? How were you supposed to make ends meet on your own? When jobs failed, who was there to take the reins? When parenting became complicated, who was there to be a sounding board? When emotions raged, who was there to calm you down, to help you regain perspective? Who was there to pick up where you left off? To fill in when you missed a beat? Who was there to share the work, the decision-making, and the emotional burdens of parenting? So that you could also share the joy of raising DSBW. . . together. Who?

All those years, the things you needed most were things that I took for granted. I'm so sorry. All kids need good dads. Yes. But the longer I'm a parent the more I realize that so do mothers. Bless you. Bless you. And all you single moms raising DSBWs out there. Bless you. . .

Sincerely, Mrs. Smith

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