Another day in the life of a Black man

Mark the date, May 30 2020. Today is the day many little black boys and girls will ask for the first time why do they hate us? The day comes for us all that look like me. It’s a day parents try to shield us from. In the age of social media the day comes too quickly. It imprints on your mind. It’s been almost thirty years and I can’t forget.

The death of George Floyd will be that defining memory. Many a kid will receive the talk that every black child has to hear. The reality that not everyone in America cares whether you live or die. Next you get the history lesson they leave out of social studies. You see it’s word of mouth because we don’t write the history books. You learn about words like oppression you might not be old enough to spell. You realize the color of your skin is a hazard to your health, and I don’t mean medically.

So many weary souls wishing they didn’t have to teach the lesson. No one should be passing down PTSD as a defense mechanism. Most black people can tell of the spidey sense of entering a place they are not wanted. I have to sit where I can see the exit. I listen before talking in a new environment. I can tell pretty quickly if I am an undesirable in the room. No one should need that skill.

Now let’s talk about cops. My mom taught me how to speak respectfully to everyone, especially the police. She told me it could be the difference between life and death. First time I followed I was 9 or 10. When I was 24 I got a ticket for a flat tire. He made me get out the car. My mom was behind me pulled over too. I had to calm her down because she was terrified for me. I have several times I could have easily been George. Now my nephews are that age and I am terrified.

It has been interesting watching the exhaustion the white people around me have been experiencing over George Floyd. For many it was like they removed fog covered glasses from their eyes. Once you see something like that you can’t go back. Many have been able to keep the shield up for quite some time. The reality of it is a lot to take in at once. For people like me it is just another day in the life of a black man in America. Oh the stories 8 year old me could tell.