Same Story, Different Victim

I would first like to say Thank God for making my Dad and I very laid back people. With aggression the slightest from our personalities. If it were one of our attributes, I don't believe we would be here. Why, might you ask? Because of our random, yet offensive run ins with the police.

I'll take you through this timeline of events, to paint the picture for you. I guess an assumption can go as far as guns being pointed in your face. So to those plain-clothed cops that pulled guns out on my Dad at his apartment yelling, "Where is Phyllis?" You must have seen him with her, right? You must have found conversations within their phone records, right? You must have questioned a mutual friend that has confessed that they in fact know each other, right? No? The only known fact that caused you to mosey over to his apartment at the dead of night was it being 'Phyllis's' last place of residence. My Dad was an unarmed black man that could have said the wrong thing or made the wrong movement and would not have been here to tell his story. But wait, there's more!

Let's fast forward about five years later. I was over my mother's house with my son and grandmother. I received a call from an unfamiliar number and all I could hear was a guy speaking, but I couldn't make out his words. So, I hung up. No big deal, right? It was a beautiful day outside so I went on the back porch and sat there on my phone. I noticed a dark SUV pull up at the end of the alley. All four doors opened and out came cops with guns in their hands. Some power walked to the front of my house while one walked up the alley, stopping at the end of my gate. He shouted out, "Go in the house!" I'm immediately thinking OMG my family is in danger! So I run in the house, yell up the stairs to my mother that the police just told me to go in the house. Before my mother could make out what I was saying, they began banging on the front door. I opened the door, which my mother still fusses about today. About five cops entered our house with guns drawn that were bigger than my then, 3 year old son. I was completely terrified and slightly confused. They asked how many people were in the house and asked all of us to come to the living room. In the midst of my fear, I had no idea that 'I' was the person of interest. The female cop asked, "Which one of you is Lanae?" I put my hand up slowly like, uh that's me. She took me upstairs in the hallway with my son to question me. She asked did I know someone named Jermaine. The answer was no. She asked when was the last time I saw him. Okay, now I'm looking at her like her words are foreign. Are you hearing me? I don't know this Jermaine guy. She asked me to go through the details of my day. I ended the conversation with the mysterious call about 30 minutes prior to their invasion. Now believing she was on to something, she looked down at my son and said, "His father's name isn't Jermaine?"

At this point I'm chuckling. I replied, "His father's name is Kory." She asked, "Are you sure?" Come on lady! I'm not sure what statistics say about black women not knowing the name of their baby's father, but I'm not one of them. I shook my head and said, "I'm pretty sure."

She looked at me like she was totally disgusted. And told me to return downstairs. They packed up their ostracized guns and left. After my anxiety level lowered, I turned on the news. And there it was Jermaine Stroud escaped from the police just hours before making the phone call to my cellphone. I was their only lead. Now had I been popping off at the mouth and offended them in the midst of my own offense, then I would have been arrested or furthermore killed.

Stick with me because there's one more story to be told. My Dad went Valley Centre shopping center on a damp day, hoodie on. Like maybe 75% of Americans in the world on that particular day. Just saying 💁. He went into one of the stores in the shopping center and came out. After starting up his car, he was blocked in by two cop cars. They made him get out of the car, telling him that he fit the description of a robbery that just occurred in the shopping center. My father asked what was the description. They said a black male with a hoodie. 😒

They walked him back into the store to ask the clerk, "Was this the person that robbed the store?" Thank God to that clerk that said 'No' or my Dad would have been locked up that day.

I'm shaking my head while I'm writing this because there is obviously a thin line between a black person and a criminal. All I'm seeing all over the world is a strong sense of assumption and offense. With tragic end results, as the number of victims continue to rise. It's so sad, but what are we going to do? Drive a hooptie with no tints to not mirror the description of a possible drug dealer? Act as child and be silent in the presence of our God forsaken authority, a cop? Bleach our skin to look inoffensive as we walk the streets to blend with the so-called ‘superior’ race? What can we do to live another day?