This summer I was in charge of creating a program at my school that would help boys of color receive the supports they need to excel academically and be better prepared for the hardships they may encounter not only throughout their academic life, but social and personal life as well. I read books such as Rising Hope, The Deepest Well, Black Boy Smile, and The Psychology of Self-Esteem to create a curriculum that would build the self-esteem and integrity of the boys as we began the program over the course of the week and continued into throughout the year. Planning, creating, and being a part of this program was filled with stress. Not because I didn’t enjoy learning a new form of psychology, new information about ACEs, how to build restorative circles, or develop a better understanding of how to develop and nurture hope. Developing the curriculum and working with these young men meant addressing an issue that has been the root of much shame throughout my life; my blackness.
 
Growing up, I was never considered “black enough.” Often times when I spoke or was myself, I was accused of “acting white” by friends and family. Rather than play basketball or football, I ran cross country and auditioned for the school play. Even as an adult when seeking to get a job my blackness was a source of shame that caused me to be harassed and lose jobs as an educator. So, when my principal asked me to lead this program that addressed a part of myself I had been told by society to push away and hide, I felt like an imposter. I thought to myself, “Clearly she has the wrong person.”
 
Throughout the summer I read, planned, sent emails, wrote curriculum, and as the week of mentorship approached, I became more and more irritable. More and more anxious that either my blackness would be called into question in a way that would make others believe I was not qualified to help anyone know or understand the complexity, difficulty, fear, and courage it takes to be an educated man of color, or I would be told this program was too pro-black and needed to be shut down.
 
Although the summer program has come and gone, and from what I can tell from the mentors and the young men who attended, it was a success, I still feel like an imposter. It’s something I battle day-to-day as I attempt to balance and master two separate worlds, making me question whether I would have been a good father to my son, Cas, or a source of shame for him as well. While I have spent so much time exploring my childhood sexual abuse in my writing there are parts of myself I have been blind to address, because it fills me with fear. It’s these pieces of myself I hope to explore in my new book How to Forgive Your Inner Daredevil: A Guide for Survivors and Caregivers of Adverse Childhood Experiences Using Marvel Comic’s Daredevil.