Driving through Flint yesterday, I saw a black kid, a boy of about 10, riding his scooter up and down a little section of Saginaw St in front of the stores. I was momentarily filled with joy that he was having a carefree moment. I thought it was a blessing that he was able to do that in Flint of all places, and that he felt safe.
But did he really feel safe? Was it really a carefree moment? My thoughts turned darker…how long would this kid have this carefree time? IF he actually felt carefree. Has he ever? I started thinking about George Floyd. Is that what this poor boy has to look forward to? Well hell, it was totally probable that racism and brutality had touched his life already. At what age was he first called the N-word? At what age was he first brutalized for being black? I know the very young aren’t spared racism, as much as I may hope. The image of this boy and the image of George Floyd pinned to the ground by a white man’s knee kept flip flopping back and forth in my mind. I cried all the way home thinking this, and I cry writing it now, but I know my tears are not enough.
Jacquelyn's Space 