Where is Base?

“To be Black in this world, can be a terrible game of waiting for the other shoe to drop”

There’s a game of Tag that children play.

In many variations one person is IT and the others run wildly from It’s grasp, booking it back to Base…where you are safe.

“I GOT BASE!” You scream as you touch the stoop of safety.
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Despite sciatica I accompanied Razi to his running club and at the end, Razi slowed down and stopped.

I ran past it . But he saw This.

I back up to where he stands very deliberately. I look down and see his name.

AMIR…My heart sinks

Razi — I heard about him

Me — They talk about him at school ?

He shrugs “Yeah”

I raise my phone to take a picture and Razi looks down. Because he knows. He knows this is a time of sadness where one mourns for another young Black life taken so carelessly.

And he points. His gesture says “THIS”

CLICK
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We walk up the hill from that spot, talking about how Amir died.

Razi — So…they were at the wrong address?

Me — They were never supposed to be there

It’s quiet until I see real anger come across his face.

Razi — He was supposed to be safe!

Me — Yes…YES!….He was supposed to be safe.

In the one place you can be. You at least SHOULD BE.

To be Black in this world, can be a terrible game of waiting for the other shoe to drop. Drywall, in the court of law, might be prioritized above you.

I pray at night to never be part of the club no one wants to be a part of. Where moms and dads look at photos realizing there will be no more to take. No more graduations. No more birthday parties. No grandkids coming.

A traffic stop gone left

A neighborhood vigilante

A Wrong Address

I tell you this ….

My heart won’t survive

And you… the one that did it….better hide before my heart gives out.

#YesIAmThatMom

#TheStraightTruth