Heal the Boy: An Apology to the Generation We Left Uninitiated

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If you are reading this, it means you have paused long enough to consider something many of us avoid — reflection. Not the comfortable kind, but the honest kind. The kind that asks us to look again at our roles, our silences, and the spaces where good intentions may not have been enough.

This piece is not light reading, and it was never meant to be. It was written with care, grief, responsibility, and hope — and I appreciate you taking the time to sit with it rather than scroll past it.

There are moments when silence becomes participation.

Not because we intended harm, but because we mistook comfort for wisdom, time for patience, and avoidance for peace. In communities like ours, silence has often worn the mask of survival. We told ourselves things would work themselves out. That boys would grow into men simply by aging. That pain would soften on its own.

It didn’t.

Many of our young people were asking questions long before they found answers in places that could not protect them. They were signalling distress in ways we didn’t recognise, didn’t want to name, or didn’t feel equipped to hold. By the time we paid attention, the cost was already unbearable.

This piece is not written from a place of moral authority.
It is written from responsibility.

It is an apology — not symbolic, not performative — but reflective. A reckoning with the gaps between intention and impact. Between what we believed we were doing, and what our young people actually experienced.

I wrote this to perform for young masters.
I wrote it in memory of Chris.
I wrote it because rites of passage do not happen by accident — and when they are absent, something always fills the void.

What follows is not an accusation.
It is an invitation.

An invitation for elders, parents, mentors, leaders, and communities to ask a difficult question without defensiveness:

Did we truly stand where we were needed — when it mattered most?

I AM SORRY - WRITTEN BY DAVIS J WILLIAMS

Sorry I ignored you at 6, 5, and 4,

Sorry that I snarled at you for u wanting to be more.

Sorry that at 10, 11, and 12, our brotherhood lacked,

Your path into manhood was definitely hacked.

Hacked by a narrative that twisted the truth,

Where your worth was dismissed since the days of your youth.

Sorry for the silence that suffocated your voice,

For the dreams that were crushed, for not giving you choice.

Sorry for attending that rave and bathing in fame,

While you fought for respect, lost in the game.

Sorry for not being a father to the fatherless,

Sorry for acting like a grown kid, lost in excess.

Sorry for abusing my power, for failing to stand,

For not holding you to account, just letting things span.

Sorry for feeding into a narrative spun,

Sorry for funding oppression, for all that I’ve done.

Sorry for ignoring the abuse that you faced,

For the hurt that was hidden, the pain laid to waste.

Sorry for the times I chose comfort and ease,

While you battled the storms, just searching for peace.

I’m sorry to the core for my part in this mess,

For failing to see you, for my own cowardice.

Now it’s too late, and the truth cuts like glass,

A reminder that compassion was never meant to pass.

I now understand what a rites of passage means,

The switch from boy to man, the loss of your dreams.

Boys are born, but men are made;

Young master, we failed you; our promises frayed.

Please grant us grace as we try to amend,

To stand up for you now, to be more than pretend.

We’re learning the lessons that we should have known,

To honour your journey and the seeds you’ve sown.

Now you are 23 years old, now everyone knows your name,

A bittersweet legacy, a reminder of the pain

Life cut short,

Two days before the Queen died,

Killed by the Queen's guard,

In a world filled with pride.

Chris, we turned our backs,

Blind to all your dreams,

Your worth was so immense,

Lost in silent screams.

Now it’s hard to bear,

The future you could’ve known,

In shadows you remain,

A legacy overthrown.

Have we had enough yet?

Men, are you ready to stand?

To hold space for these boys

As they find their way to manhood’s land?

To guide them through the struggle,

To nurture and to teach,

To show them love and strength,

And help them find their reach.

Pause...breathe.

In.....hold....out.....hold

Stand up, King and Queen,

Stand up, fix your crown,

Rites of passage await,

Heal the boy

Let the man appear,

With wisdom, love, and grace,

Together we can forge

A brighter, safer space.

For every child unheard,

For every silent cry,

We’ll break the chains of shame,

And lift them to the sky.

With courage as our shield,

And unity our song,

We’ll guide them through the darkness,

Help them know they belong.

So rise up, stand together,

With strength that knows no end,

In the hearts of our young kings,

Let compassion be our trend.

In this journey of healing,

We’ll show them what it means

To embrace their full potential,

To live out their wild dreams.

#thegiftofmanhood

A Closing Word

If you have made it this far, thank you.

Not because this was easy to read — but because you stayed. Because staying is where responsibility begins. Reflection without action is just emotion dressed up as concern. This piece does not ask for guilt. It asks for courage.

The apology matters. But what matters more is what comes next.

Because young people are not waiting for perfect adults.
They are waiting for present ones.

If this poem stirred something in you — discomfort, grief, recognition, regret — don’t rush to quiet it. Sit with it. Let it sharpen your attention. Let it change how you show up.

Rites of passage do not happen by accident.
Neither does healing.
Both require intention.

So let this not be the end of the conversation.
Let it be the moment we finally stop looking away.

Five Things We Can Do Differently — Starting Now

1. Intervene Earlier, Not Louder

Stop waiting for crisis, police involvement, exclusion, or headlines before stepping in. Behaviour is communication. Changes in mood, friendships, silence, anger, or withdrawal are invitations — not inconveniences. Ask questions early. Stay curious. Don’t wait for “blood”.

2. Build Real Relationships, Not Just Rules

Young people don’t need more lectures. They need adults who know their name, their story, and their world. Consistency matters more than intensity. Show up regularly. Be predictable. Be available even when it’s uncomfortable.

3. Hold Boys Accountable and Held

Accountability without care becomes punishment. Care without accountability becomes neglect. Boys need both. Set clear boundaries. Name consequences. And stay present while they face them. Don’t abandon them at the moment they need guidance most.

4. Create Intentional Rites of Passage

Growing older is not the same as growing into manhood. Communities must mark transitions with guidance, responsibility, teaching, and reflection. If we don’t initiate our boys into the village, they will find initiation elsewhere — and it will not love them back.

5. Apologise — Then Change Your Behaviour

An apology is not weakness. It is leadership. Say sorry where you missed things. Where you were absent. Where you didn’t know what to do and did nothing instead. Then let that apology be followed by different actions, not just better words