.396 black america

i've known his mother for twelve years. za, one of the moms i recall in memory as i raise my own child, is still amazing to me. from her i learned that, even if your child has mainstream education, what they learn at home sticks best. she, turning her dining room into a classroom, alphabets and numbers lining the walls, desks and crayons coloring it's space. it's no surprise that her first born, marquis, now the oldest of five, turned out to be such a creatively dope and quietly respectful young soul. i've known him since his voice was squeaky and his pajamas were fashioned with cartoon characters. and now, him, fourteen years old with a fly penchant for drawing and a collection of skateboards that he calls his trophies. he absolutely refused to take pictures until i agreed to getting only his outfit, but i couldn't resist one shot of his face. it's amazing to look at a teenager you've seen as a little person, and still see them exactly as they were. i think i'm going to be one of those elders who pinches the cheeks of fifty year old adults who's diapers i once changed.