Will African American men ever feel comfortable in the brown skin they’re in?
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Most days I try to get to bed early to get a good nights rest. After saying my prayers, I’m reminded of how much I love my family and can’t wait to hug the ones near and far. Trying not to worry about them seems to get harder and harder, especially my dad and brothers. My sisters and I go to the doctor for just about everything. The men think they’ll be okay. Unfortunately, this isn’t my biggest worry about the men in my family, though. It’s simply being an African American male.
I never know if I’ll be that African-American family member to get a notification, text or phone call that one of my loved ones has been killed by a police officer.
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Watching the news, reading articles and Facebook is beginning to feel much like looking at a horror movie for me. I hate them and when forced to look at them I watch with one hand over my eyes afraid of what will happen next. I find myself constantly getting a glimpse at photos of the males in my family. I also try to capture as much content, video, and audio as possible. I never know if I’ll be that African-American family member to get a notification, text or phone call that one of my loved ones has been killed by a police officer. It’s such an uneasy feeling to exist and never actually be counted. To have goals, work hard and build lives, families and relationships and have it all be irrelevant because of the color of your skin.
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As an African American female, I’m often torn about my feelings towards police officers. Every encounter I’ve ever had has been positive. I’ve always been respected, acknowledged and heard. At the conclusion of a routine traffic stop, I even smile and say thank you. Driving off, it’s a bittersweet moment. I usually say to myself, “If I was a black man, I’d probably be dead, beaten or on the side of the road watching them tear
through my car in this 90-degree heat.” Yet no matter how impressed I am with one officer’s service and treatment towards me, I am always driving with my guard up and waiting for the day I am approached by the one having a bad day and happy to see a brown face in the driver seat.
But what about those who never even get a chance to reach into the console.
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My smile, poise, and preparation of recommended documents may speak volumes for me. But what about those who never even get a chance to reach into the console. Those who are walking, jogging, coming home from work and entering a neighborhood worth more than their perception. Those who have gone to college and are looking forward to starting a new journey with an exciting career; Those who hug their sons and daughters before leaving the house and never return because they were born with brown skin.
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I can’t have any more children, If I could, I always said I would love to have a son. For the first time, I can truly say that never being able to fulfill a dream will be okay. I would hate to be the mother to get that call that police officers had killed my African American son.
In this day and time, it seems inevitable.
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Photo: Flickr/Dan DeLuca