I didn’t want to think about how similar Trayvon Martin is to the vision I have for my son. He was a boy, enjoying life, getting good grades, collecting admiration from teachers; he was loved by his family, who over and over called the extremely deceptive police department when he had been missing for three days because his body was cooling on a medical examiner’s table and left like his parents didn’t want him when all they wanted was him. That young child was so much like my child, the child in my imagination’s future. He had a girl who liked him. He ate candy. He was wise in discerning when trouble showed up. He called for help.
I hope you’ll visit Michael’s blog to read the entire post. I hope too that we who are white will take in this unfolding story and feel it for the unjust reality it represents – not always this dramatic, but always devestating.