A Day Late and No Dollars Short: My views on Trayvon

Everyone with a preteen knows what it is like to have your words fall on deaf ears.

Too many times I’ve been worried that my using every example as a lesson will eventually lead to “subjective deafness.”

My lectures becoming “wha wha whas.” Just another one of mom’s tirades.

Not more then a day after my mother introduced my children to the world of Kony, was that child been brutally murdered.

Not a week after nightmares of kidnapping and brainwashing had entered their minds, the reality of profiling and entitlement cast shadows over their world.

In all honest, I wasn’t moved by the plight of Uganda, Ghana or any of those other far off lands.

I’ve been so bogged down in my own house of judges,



bill collectors

and landlords, that those accounts were too far removed.

Then it hit my backyard,

my children

and even my own childhood.

Flashbacks of my days as a 17 year old baldheaded backpacker filled my mind.

The accounts of redneck relatives assuming I was a gun-tooting

drug dealer

because my pants were too big

and my hoodie was just large enough to fit my contraband, rushed back.

What if???

What if those nights walking through neighborhoods I thought were safe, the self appointed eatchmen had spotted me?

What if I didn”t have my “big brothers” looking out for me to drive me home?

My while life I feared the robbers and rapists.

Never realizing I was one walk home away from being Trayvon.

Hell in a few years my son is going to be that kid.

My 11 year old son is now terrifed to wear his hoodie on his head because…

what if?

How am I supposed to teach my children to love their neighbors when now everyone is dangerous?

My son’s saving grace his he can pass. Never in my life have I understood that more than now.

How am I supposed to teach him his heritage and being proud of where he comes from- when being black is enough to get you killed?

The look on his face when he realized this could have happened to me when I was growing up…

The look on mine when I realized he is my kid and someday he’ll be face to face with a Zimmerman or Duke or those damn relatives that I no longer talk to…

Is it that moment when a drop is all that counts or will his fairness be enough to save his life?

The reality of racism has already been introduced to my 13 year old daughter.

She’s had the question of if I’m her real mother and the concerns of why her hair is so “fuzzy.”

She’s become all too aware of the reality of not being “pure blood.”

Is she going to be terrified to admit what her makeup is in fear of backlash?

Never in my life has someone else’s decision so effected me.

Never in my life have I felt so connected.

So terrified.

So angry.

I still wonder if that man knew that the bullet he set free would effect the world, would he have pulled the trigger?

What if…




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