While listening to the radio today and the reports of everything going on in Florida, I heard a woman crying profusely who called in to share her perspective. She explained how she has three sons and one of them looks like Treyvon Martin. That particular son walks to the convenience store all the time to get his little sister potato chips, he puts his hands in his pockets and wears his hoodie. He also lives in a gated community in Florida.
I listened to this mother, and the other details, as I drove my van with three of my children in the back. I have one son who is only 8 years old and relatively oblivious to this type of senseless violence. He and two of his sisters quietly listened to the radio. I let them absorb the woman’s words without comment knowing there would be another time to converse. I let them listen as I also absorbed her words. Then the president’s statement washed over me, the young men, the grieving mothers, the activists and everyone else who are rallying for justice for Treyvon. Everyone who sees what I see as clearly as if it happened to me. I see my son, Andre, as a teenager strolling along, chatting on his phone, head and face covered with a sudden awareness that something isn’t quite right.
I hear his heart quicken with fear, and anger, at his personal space being violated and threatened. I see my son in Treyvon Martin just as every other parent can see their son, or nephew, or brother, or even themselves in the picture of this beautiful young man. We are amazed at his family’s strength, encouraged by the community support and embittered by the lack of justice. It is sad to live in a world where I am not surprised this has happened, but even more so that I live in a world that will let someone get away with cold-blooded murder.
Oh, should I say allegedly? *SMH*
There must be justice for my son. Treyvon is now our son… If we don’t seek justice for him then we’ll be burying them all in the end.