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| My son in a hoodie that I didn't buy |
We were in a store one day nearly five years ago dressed for the winter. We were browsing with an aisle between us. He came around the corner with his hood on and it scared the hell out of me. He must have thought I was crazy.
"Don't you ever wear a hood in a store!" I remember it like it was yesterday. "People will view you as suspicious and up to no good."
It's lessons like that as a black parent you teach alongside tying shoes, ties, not having loud music on in your car, not taking shortcuts and jumping fences-- even if it's your own neighborhood-- and following a police officer's orders when-- not if-- you get stopped.
My son was home from college a few weeks ago sporting a nappy fro and sagging basketball shorts.
I implored him to cut his hair. Our conversation:
It's about perception, son...you'll want your appearance to give you the benefit of the doubt. All anyone sees is their first impression of you.
But Ma, there are bad people walking around in suits and ties and I'm a good person.
You're right, but when anyone encounters you all that registers is young, black male.
They don't know that he's smart, witty and charming, that he'd rather watch Cartoon Network than Spike TV, could eat a carton of eggs a day and enjoys having a cup of hot tea with honey.
No. All anyone sees is young black male. And my prayers never cease for him though I don't have much face time with him these days since he's away in school. Away in school...
But did you know that 1 in 3 Black males born today can expect to spend time in jail or prison? The hyperincarceration of Black males is a moral crisis.
That the lives of young black males are so devalued and marginalized is crystallized in the Trayvon Martin case. This incident where George Zimmerman, the self-appointed Neighborhood Watch captain murdered Martin, a 17-year old young black male armed with Skittles and a can of Arizona tea happened not 30 miles from me.
I'm sure I speak for many Black mothers of sons. This case pierces my heart. Sabrina Fulton, his mother is living our nightmare.I grieve for her and with her. When she says she wants the murderer brought to justice, I know it's shock talking. She's caught up in a media firestorm. What she really wants is her son back.
No one wants to be a cautionary tale. However I believe her innocent son's murder will make some young black males heed their parents' warnings. They don't live in a colorblind society, though many think racism is past tense and that racial profiling is a figment of their parents' 60's-era imaginations. All the "nagging" and hyper caution that parents preach may be more resonant with them because they know who Trayvon Martin is.
I'm sad and I'm angry as are many. Often this combination is a catalyst for mobilization and change. The question is always where do you start?
Count me as one who wants Zimmerman charged with Trayvon Martin's senseless murder.
I'm also angered at the NBC's Today Show Matt Lauer's callous questioning of Ms. Fulton where he refers to Zimmerman and Martin's encounter as one between "two men." He asks if Trayvon was agitated or if there were circumstances going on in his life that would have somehow made him culpable in his own death at the hands of Zimmerman. What's more he spent a great deal of the interview time recounting Zimmerman's fathers Orlando Sentinel piece stating that his son is not racist having grown up in a multiracial family. The interview should have been about Trayvon, the victim not propping up the perpetrator.
Life is cheap; it only costs one bullet. But this is a shot that was heard around the world.
So what do I do? Hug my son tighter. Encourage another mother's son to walk upright and take off his hoodie.
I also implore the media to paint their pictures of young black males with a broader brush and a more vibrant palette than orange jumpsuits and in hoodies up to no good.
These sorry images stack the deck against young black males like Trayvon Martin and my son too. Content of character, not color of skin-- some dreams never die.
