A few months early he tried to walk out and I wouldn't let him. I stood in the doorway because I knew he was more talk than action when it came to truly disobeying the rules. The social worker had commended my passion that time, but said it was wiser to just let him walk out if he tried it again.
His aunt soon came to our front door with him by her side. Then he decided to just walk out and live outside on his own. We knew that wouldn't last long because it was cold, so I left the door unlocked and told him it would remain that way until he came back.
As he walked away I wasn't afraid of him freezing to death; he was too smart to stay out that long. I wasn't worried about him running away forever; he knew we loved him and he knew our home was his as long as it had to be.
I was worried about what might happen to a black teen out at night. I was worried about what someone else might assume a young, black, teenage boy might be up to on the streets at night. I was worried the cornrows he was so proud to finally have and looked so good in would be seen differently by someone else.
He came back to the house after a little bit, mad but in bed.
I only had a black teenaged son for five months and he was my foster son and not of my own flesh, but in that time I got a small taste of the fears other parents have every day.
In our five months with "J" we had some conversations. We talked about how his actions might be perceived differently because of his skin. We talked about the importance of school and incarceration rates for black men without a degree. He talked about the looks he felt he got from others. We got a small taste of the conversations our black friends have with their sons that I will never have to have with Joshua. This opened our eyes.
When George Floyd was murdered I couldn't help but see "J"'s face under that damn knee. I couldn't help but picture "J" looking at bystanders and pleading for breath. I couldn't help but think how if it were "J" that was killed the world wouldn't ever know or care to know about his sweetness, curiosity and humor, but his worst moment. I couldn't help but feel for George Floyd's loved ones who spent hours prepping him for how to interact with police only to watch him be crushed.
I'm not asking you to have a new opinion about police brutality. I'm not asking you to have a new opinion on race in America. Not long ago I didn't have the slightest bit of understanding of this. I didn't, and perhaps refused, to get a glimpse of what darker skinned people feel and experience. If you don't get it, that's OK. I only am asking you to imagine the conversations our brown brothers and sister have with their children that white parents don't. Then to let yourself feel that weight.
I don't know the solution. I don't know exactly how to feel when a city burns while a family weeps. But I know I long for something better for us all today.
The Spirit and the bride say, "Come!' And let him who hears say, "Come!"...
He who testifies to these things says, 'Yes, I am coming soon.'
Amen. Come Lord Jesus." Revelation 22;17a & 20
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