I didn’t want to write a newsletter today.

It was a difficult and stressful week mentally, physically and emotionally. Every time I thought, “this has to be it,” one more thing got piled on my already loaded down shoulders. More than a few times, I wanted to throw in the towel and run away. Normally, I would slap a smile on my face and power through it, but I couldn’t because I wasn’t alone in the tension and anxiety I was experiencing. My two-year-old son, Kingsley was feeling it too.

Lately, I’ve been thinking about the moments that made me feel like I was officially an adult. It wasn’t when I got my first apartment in NYC, nor was it the day I got married. I didn’t feel like one on the day Kalvin and I bought a house. I didn’t feel like one even when I bought a car all by myself. All of those events were major milestones that I’m proud of, but they felt like rehearsal for a big show.

If you follow me on Instagram, you’ve probably caught a glimpse of my daycare drama. The five-second version of the story is, my son was being mistreated, mislabeled as a troublemaker and his education was in danger. Kingsley is extremely intelligent, energetic, funny, beautiful, well-mannered, clever and endlessly curious. When his curiosities aren’t being nurtured he bravely pushes the boundaries before him.

My parents took our education and protecting us very seriously. One time, our school wanted my twin brother to repeat a grade for some flimsy reason. I’m not exactly sure what happened, but I do know that my father took off work and came to school in one of his nicest suits. When he was done with the principal, the teachers whispered his name throughout the hallways.

My mother was at our high school so much, she could have been mistaken for a teacher. Her off-days were Wednesday and Thursday, and every Wednesday, she would drop us off at school, go grocery shopping, and then head back to the school for her weekly update. Much to my dismay; she and the dean were on a first name basis and he provided her with information that she would use to either rip us or a teacher to shreds. You never knew who was going to get it.

An adult is someone who courageously sticks up for those who can’t defend themselves, especially when they don’t even realize you’re advocating for them.

I had no idea about the kind of mountains my parents were moving for us until I had to do the same for my son this week. After I verbally set his teachers on fire and pulled him out of that school, I sat in the car, hugging him in my lap and cried. I cried for his lack of comprehension of what was happening at the moment. And I cried harder because in 30 years when he’s successful and has his own children, I will tell him about the time I was ready to burn down a daycare for him. It was the first of many battles I will wage on his behalf on my quest to support my children on their road to greatness. As far as I’m concerned, I’m raising my son and daughter to be the future presidents of the free world, and everyone who has an opportunity to teach them should act accordingly.

We are more than parents. We are doctors, lawyers, judges, scientists, magicians, heroes and more to our children. It is not enough to trust that the school system will provide them with everything they need. Education starts at home and the schools are an extension of that. Educators should be honored to mold the minds of the next generation.

What if I told you that as a parent you hold the future in your hands? Because you do. How you parent affects all of us in society. Racism is taught. Hate is taught. None of us are born with the knowledge of these things and therefore, we are responsible for the academic and cultural success of the next generation. It is critical, that we raise good citizens.

Being an adult means advocating for our children and our future, every step of the way. Boldly, loudly and proudly.

Tell me, what is your definition of an adult?