“One thing we don’t think about when planning for children is how to teach them how not to be killed,” Darnell Lamont Walker, the book’s author says. “At 11 years old, my son came to me, matter-of-factly telling me about the dream he had that morning in which a cop attacked and tried to kill him. Undoubtedly it was the news of Philando Castile and Alton Sterling that I refused to hide from him that put these thoughts in his head. ‘Why do they keep killing us,’ he asked. ‘I don’t have an answer for that right now,’ I told him.”
We replenished in each other everything drained from us over the past few days. I wasn’t sure how else to say “thank you,” except with a kiss while waiting on the Uber. She kissed me back pretending my hand on her back was the reason she came closer.
The one guy said something about killing police officers. He said something about the way they make him feel when he’s just walking down the street and one walks by or pulls up beside him. “This one time on I-95,” he sighed, “a cop pulled up beside me and my heart was beating like I had a trunk full of dope.” Then he went on to talk about a teacher he had once called that a “conditioning.”
It’s the irony. I just find it hard to believe that the folks who drove the children of the town’s working class away from the pools are the same people who sat before me arguing for the good of the people.
What happened, legal eagles and mavericks (shout out to Maxine Shaw)? Where are your reactions? Where is your anger? What happened to the uncensored versions of you? Were those versions murdered in a lecture hall or during a pledge to a flag? What happened?