That our sons can be targeted. We teach our sons to not be too wild in the streets, not to be confrontational with figures in authority because in our hearts we suspect(know) that our sons will be mistreated unjustly. It’s a harsh truth on racism and we try to bury it. We try not to let our fears hinder the growth of our sons, we try not to strip the dignity that all men have (crave) because they are men. But when we send them out into the world we worry. We pray. We hope that at the end of each day they will come back to us unharmed either physically or emotionally.
As I listened to the screams of the 911 call where you can clearly hear Trayvon Martin screaming in the background my heart broke and like every black woman and every black man my thought went to my own sons. How easy it could have been them just like at that moment it was Trayvon. When I look at the many pictures of his innocent face on the internet and news my heart breaks for him and his family. I know his mother probably kissed that face a million times, hugged him to her a million times, and laughed with him a million times and now it will never be enough.
I listened to the 911 call from that scumbag Zimmerman and see no provocation for his ‘suspicion’ other than the fact that Trayvon was young and black. Listening to his calmness boils my blood. Listening to his description of him claiming that Trayvon looked like he was on drugs angers me so deeply it hurts. A bag of skittles and ice tea makes you high.
Self Defense. SMH. I didn’t hear a man screaming for help, I heard a boy screaming for his life. Shaking my head at what should be the shame of the vague self-defense law in Florida, at the police officers who let this vile waste of a human being go, and the lax gun laws that led to this damn tragedy.