“I’m 28 now, but when I was a teenager I was followed in stores, harassed by police, and called out of my name on multiple occasions (nigger, monkey, coon, for example). I was an honor roll student that had a job at 16, but I guess that didn’t matter.
If I had to pick one story that stands out, it would have to be walking home in high school (in Clovis, CA at the time because Mom was a recruiter stationed in Fresno) after dark. It was about 10 p.m. and I wasn’t doing anything illegal as I was just walking home from a neighbor’s house. An officer pulled over out of nowhere, cutting me off, and hopped out of his car like I was some thug. He proceeded to make me take a drunk test then handcuffed me and placed me in the back of his cruiser. He drove to the address I provided and walked me to the door in cuffs. When my dad opened the door the officer was a bit taken back to see a white man.
My dad said, ‘What are you doing with my son and why is he cuffed?’
The officer replied, ‘He’s out late loitering and I wanted to make sure he got home instead of in trouble.’
My dad asked the officer to quickly walk with him to the end of the street where the local high school’s basketball courts were visible. On the basketball courts at that exact moment there were a group of roughly 15 white kids, some playing basketball and others talking in a group.
My dad said to the cop, ‘What about the white kids that are out playing basketball at 11 p.m. some nights at the school? Why don’t you cuff them and take them home?’
The officer just uncuffed me and walked away. It was the first time I felt like I was different for being black as I had spent my entire childhood on military bases.
My father summed it up by saying, ‘I’ll always be there for you, son.’”
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