This World is Not Our Home

I am the mom of a fifteen-year-old black son. He is an amazing gift. He’s loves Jesus, and he’s smart, handsome, and funny.

 Like most boys this age, he can drive me utterly mad, and I keep praying for that frontal lobe to develop already! He keeps me on my knees just like all of my children and grandchildren do.

As a black boy who will soon drive a car – alone – I worry. Yes, I am fearful. What if he gets pulled over – whether or not he is doing something wrong? What will that look like? What if, at the moment, he forgets to put his hands on the wheel? What if the officer is tired or ignorant or just plain scared because of his own prejudices?

 What then? 

I respect police officers and appreciate the job they must do every day. Just like us, they are human. There are good ones and there are bad ones. 

What if my son comes across a bad one? 

I never want to see a #justicefor – in front of his name.

I don’t want him to be fearful every time he leaves his home. I don’t want to be fearful every time he leaves home. I’ve raise two white sons and never once did I worry about them being treated unfairly because of their skin color. Sure, I worried plenty, but never about that.

I am the grandparent of four non-white grandsons too, and I worry about them as they become older too. 

I watched the video of George Floyd. It was hard to watch. Once was enough. Among other things, I wonder what in the world is wrong with that police officer? Our natural instinct is self-preservation. With all the people watching and all the phones that must have been recording (at least one), what made him keep his knee on George’s neck? Surely he knew he’d be held accountable for his actions. Was it a power thing? A control issue? Pride issue? What?

I guess it doesn’t matter, but I wonder about that. In the end, the reason means nothing because a man is dead. His family has to go on without him. A mom has to live longer than her child. As a mom who has lost a son, I know what that does to the human heart. And mine breaks for her.

This world is not our home, and I feel it more and more every single day. My heart hurts for the injustice I see that comes in so many forms. It breaks for the craziness of riots and looting that just take away from the injustice that it stems from. Looting, destroying property, and burning our towns serves nothing and no one. It does the opposite. It has become the focal point instead of justice for George or Armaud or anyone else.

It needs to stop. 

In the meantime, I’ll keep talking to my son about how to handle a traffic stop, or a crazy woman in the park who tells police that she’s being threatened by a black man – even if he’s just bird watching and she’s the one not following the law.