Monday, July 11, 2016

Insanity

Tonight, my son wasn't home when he was supposed to be. An hour after his curfew, I put dinner away as some kind of assertion that he didn't deserve for me to leave it out and ready for him when he couldn't respect my rules. An hour after that, I was worried and texting his girlfriend who said she hadn't seen him at all today but would text his friends to see what she could find out. Not long after, I learn he was with his best friend earlier, had eaten at his house and they had left together. It was a bit of a comfort to know they were together but his friend's mother was concerned as well, given the fact that neither of them have cell phones. Three hours past curfew, I am in such a panic that I'm ready to call the police. But I couldn't. The events of the past week had me so afraid for my black son's life, that I couldn't even bring myself to call the police in fear of my black son's safety. Thankfully, the Lord brought him home safely, just before 2 am, and after cursing him clean on out, I retired to my bedroom and cried.

I was honestly afraid that something might have happened to my child. He's missed curfew before, but not by this much, and it pained me to feel like the one recourse I know to resort to in this situation is one that I can't even trust right now. These senseless killings by officers of the law have me in a straight jacket. I would rather have my son taking his chances in the streets than send some cops out looking for him. There is a real problem here...

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