It's easy to zip through our days, focused on our career, our spouse and kids, our chores and to-do lists. But there are moments in time when something incredibly devastating occurs, and not even to one of your own family members, but to someone who you think, wow, that could have been one of us.
The murder of 17-year-old Trayvon Martin is what I'm thinking about today. As I sit here, both my girls napping sounding in their beds and the sun is shining and it's a lovely 80-something degrees outside, I cannot bring myself to concentrate on planning my next few weeks of class.
I listened to the 911 tape made my Martin's killer, and it's haunting.
I looked at the photos of Martin---whose baby face and wide eyes remind more of a child than a young man.
I looked at the face of Martin's killer, and I think, what drives someone to murder an innocent child?
I could launch into the whole "we live in a fallen world" speech, but it just seems inappropriate and unfeeling. What explanation, what reason, what proverb or song can possibly explain such a horrific crime to someone like Martin's mother? There is no justification. There is no excuse. There are no tender words that will bring comfort.
This story makes my heart shiver---with sadness, with anger, and most of all, with fear.
I'm the mother of two brown girls. Say that one day they are strolling through a neighborhood with a snack in hand. Say someone thinks that just because their skin is brown, the child should be watched and then yelled at and then shot.
Denene, editor of My Brown Baby, suggests that if you are as angry as she is, you should consider sending a package of Skittles (or as one commenter suggested, a picture of a Skittles wrapper) to the Sandford Police Department. We do this in support of the family. We do this to overwhelmingly let the PD know that we demand justice for the innocent victim. We do this for our children---many of whom are brown. We do this because it is right and besides praying, it's all we can do for the family of Trayvon Martin.
My babies are still sounding sleeping in their beds. I am blessed that they are there, tucked in. Safe. Happy. Comfortable. Trayvon Martin's family no longer has their precious child. I cannot imagine their pain.