Such is the front-page
headline on the paper thrown on my lawn this morning.
Carrying it into the house,
my mind said, “And I know there is much more our President is not sharing
regarding his ‘feelings’ about the George Zimmerman trial. He can’t.
He is the elected leader of everyone and we have a complex problem in
America that must be solved with rational attention.”
Well, that’s how I felt about
that headline.
But Trayvon Martin continues
to be on trial as he has been from the moment his killer met up with him that
dark night in Sanford, Florida. I’m
angry at the evidence of that.
What to do? I’m working hard to keep the pain I feel
buried in hopeful, common sense words and action. It’s difficult, because I’ve lived so long
and experienced so much. Read my award
winning memoir, Black Star Girl.
Not included in my book is an
experience with my son. I remember a sunny
Saturday morning ride with Darin. He was
driving his almost brand new lacquer- black Honda Prelude, a 1987 model. Darin was 25 years old, going on 26 – finally
the proud owner of the car he had worked and saved diligently to buy. It wasn’t his first car. First,
a used Lincoln (a huge vehicle) bought through a newspaper ad, then a used
Escort were his before getting the long dreamed of Prelude. Both Farah and Darin had jobs from the time
they were of age to go to work for others.
Neither my daughter nor my son was frivolous with their hard earned pay.
Well on this summer Saturday before
noon Darin picked me up to take me to a hot dog ‘joint’.
He wanted to show me what a fine business it was, the kind he hoped to
own one day. We were laughing and
talking with each other when I saw his face go somber after a casual glance
into his side view mirror. Abruptly left
turning into a drive, he mumbled, “Wonder what’s up?” By that time the police
car was beside him. I’m remembering the officer did not get out of
his car. That was strange. He looked across at Darin and said, “What was
that all about?” Darin in an even but puzzled tone questioned, “What?”
I'm silent, thinking, was this officer trying to
make trouble for the young black ‘boy’ looking too happy on a carefree Saturday
morning? To me that was quite apparent. The policeman firmly replied, “You know what you
did.”
I wanted to immediately weigh
in, be ‘the adult’ in the car. We had done nothing suspect or illegal. But
knowing my son was his own man and I should do all I could not to interfere, I glanced
at the officer but held myself aloof until the officer added, “you know you saw
me”. While Darin calmly claimed, “I
didn’t see you ‘til just now”, I slowly leaned forward and looked the man
directly in the eye in my most authoritative manner. It worked.
He warned, “well be careful.” Gruffly adding, “watch what you’re
doing.” He sped away.
I don’t remember visiting the
hot dog place or anything we did after that encounter – except talk. We tried to figure out what the police stop
was all about. Perhaps he thought the car was stolen and was having the plates
run. We were heading from one town into another and maybe he wanted ‘the
collar’. But he didn’t get out of his car! We did agree he must have thought we were two
‘kids’. I personally liked that.
Whatever the reason for the
Police Officer to stop Darin, we were fortunate. I had the opportunity of seeing the young
man’s response in a trying situation. I
was proud of him. Even though we were unnecessarily harassed, only our happy
time was ruined.
I truly believe I wouldn’t
have the story to tell if my son and I were white, not black in America. That is sad.
It is an unfair reality that continues.
My heartfelt sympathy and
prayers for their strength go out to Trayvon Martin’s parents, his entire
family and friends. “God bless you.”
one another.