Sunday, October 1, 2017


This happened one year ago. A had just turned eleven.

He was fundraising for his school. We were walking on our street together. I was standing two houses away from him to give him some independence while he knocked on doors and took orders for chrysanthemums.

He was knocking on H's door. A police car was driving by. When the officers saw him, they swerved across the road and came to a sudden stop against the curb, facing the wrong way. Two officers watched him. Both their heads turned and they watched my 4'9" eleven-year-old son.

I called out, "It looks like they're not home, sweetie."

Both heads snapped toward me. The car swerved back to the right side of the road and sped away.

For a year, I have tried to come up with an alternative explanation. I keep telling myself, "Maybe they were concerned about a kid locked out of this house." But there was no, "Hey bud, need some help?" And after they saw me, no, "Looks like you got this, Mom." No words at all.

A sudden swerve. Watching. And another sudden swerve away.

They weren't concerned. My local police saw my 4'9" eleven-year-old brown-skinned son and they were suspicious.

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