Forever (Netflix): A Tender Legacy of Love and Growth

A love letter to a show, to our children, to ourselves.

Some shows we watch.

Others, they live in us.

Forever is one of those rare series that doesn’t just tell a story. It sees you. It touches you, it holds you gently, and it reminds you that you're not alone. Your experiences matter. And above all, you deserve to be seen with tenderness.

From the very first episodes, a kind of magic settles in. That quiet, warm, and almost childlike joy we feel when we see us.

We recognize ourselves. Sometimes in the child struggling to focus. Sometimes in the parent trying to control every detail. Sometimes in the exhausted yet dignified mother. And sometimes in the pure, unfiltered laughter of a Black boy who, for a moment, is simply… a child.

Illuminating Black Parenthood: a tenderness rarely seen on screen

Forever brings to life something we're often denied on screen: the soft, nuanced complexity of Black parenting.

No tired stereotypes. No boxed-in roles. Just parents. With their doubts, their hopes, their stumbles, their unconditional love.

And the father... Oh, the father... With disarming gentleness, he embodies a masculinity that’s both strong and tender. A reassuring, attentive, loving presence. The kind many of us strive to be, in spite of the weight we carry, in spite of our trauma, in spite of our fears.

Fear is something we know all too well. The kind that drives us to 'hyper-control' and overprotect. Because, we know. We’ve seen. We understand what the world can do to our children. So we aim to protect them. To prepare them. And sometimes, we lose ourselves in this hypervigilance. Forever portrays this with infinite delicacy. Without judgment. Without heaviness. Just truth.

The Inner Black Child

What moves us deeply in this series is also how it speaks to the child we once were.

The child who couldn’t always articulate emotions. Who sometimes grew up too fast. Who, too often, wasn't believed, wasn't heard. And who is now raising their own children, despite all the cracks and imperfections.

In every scene, there’s an echo. A recognition. Sometimes, a healing. Watching these children is almost like relearning to listen to ourselves. Learning to mend the fractures, so we can give our own children what we once longed to receive.

Neurodivergence, nuance, and authenticity

Forever portrays neurodivergence with remarkable accuracy. Not overacted, not exaggerated, not pathologized.

You see a child trying. Drifting off. Fidgeting. Doubting. Dreaming. LIVING.

This kind of humanity is probably the thing we've been craving the most in representations of Black children, and neurodivergent children in particular. Too often viewed through lenses of discipline, presumed violence, or as “problems to fix.”

Here, we just see a child.

Period.

And that changes everything.

Black Joy, Black Girl Magic, and Black Boy Joy

There’s a scene in the kitchen where the mother senses why her son suddenly seems more motivated, inspired, confident.

A knowing smile crosses her face. She says: “He got a Black girl!”

That moment is pure bliss. Soulful. Sacred even.

Not just for what it reveals about teenage love. But for how it unapologetically celebrates the power of Black Girl Magic. Uplifting. Healing. Transformative.

And then... Then, there’s the embodiment of Black Boy Joy. A kind of enchantment and freedom that glows from within.

The moments of play and laughter. The passion for the game. The wild dreams. Moments where Black boys aren’t defined by presumed danger or failures, but by their full, radiant humanity and beauty. That's rare. And precious.

A Transatlantic Mirror

Yes, the series is set in the US. Yes, it speaks to an African American context.

But for those of us raising Afro-descendant children in Europe, the dynamics are all too familiar. The invisible weight. The gut-wrenching desire to do right. To guide without overpowering. To transmit without confining.

We recognize ourselves in the fears, the parenting choices, the silences too. And above all, in how this series restores dignity to our stories. To our inner worlds. To our sensitivities.

The gift that it is. And what we choose to make of it.

Forever is more than just a series.

It is a love letter to our children, our families, our communities.

It is a tender mirror held up to those who move forward with their wounds and their hopes.

It is, above all, a quiet yet powerful plea for more nuance, more authentic representations, more stories where we exist differently.

And if we choose to embrace this gift as an invitation to continue to write, create, love, educate and transmit, with equal truth, we'll be alright.

Not perfect.

But present.

Fully.

Deeply.

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Along the road...

This piece was written halfway through the series, before I even knew how it would end. I felt the urge to capture what this show stirred in me, to freeze the moment almost. Even before knowing where it would go.

Because sometimes, it's about the journey, not the destination.

Maybe the ending will spark a debate. We’ll circle back to it.

See you for part two?