Justice for Trayvon Martin

I debated long and hard about whether or not to post this. Why? I’m not really sure. It’s definitely not because I’m embarrassed or ashamed of sharing my thoughts, opinions and feelings. Perhaps the reason is I don’t want to make anyone feel uncomfortable. Yes, even as a woman I can relate to his story. Or maybe I’m still trying to figure out for me personally what happens next. After the peaceful demonstrations subside. How do I contribute to the dialogue while keeping the momentum and moving the change forward.?

I think the real reason I was hesitant is because the situation is very complex. Simple some may say in theory but deeply engrained and institutionalized within the fiber of this country and my people. And because of that I’m deeply troubled, afraid and sad. Sad. Most definitely sad.

Sir Lil Jones is five. He is one of my two best contributions to this world. He is my legacy, my footprint, my heartbeat. My everything. I truly start to breathe whenever I see his little face. Oh of course as a parent I complain about the hard times, the whining, the tantrums, the moments of misbehavior, and the constant demands. We don’t live out every day twirling in a field of clover. But my children are truly my joy. I love them to the core with all that I have. And I am fiercely protective over them. I worry often and everyone they come in contact with gets the side eye and the once over. I can’t play when it comes to my children. Don’t blame me. It’s my natural instinct as their mama.

Sir Lil Jones is five. He is not a suspect . . . yet. The day will come when that sweet face will be profiled, followed, targeted, stereo-typed, demeaned, and every other verb used to belittle and repress. This is a fact. Or has that day already come? Is someone already pegging my son for failure? Does someone already consider him a menace to society? Did the parents of the kids who did not show up to his birthday party, hell didn’t even acknowledge the invitation, prevent their kids from coming to play with my baby because they already feel that he Is not worthy? Those thoughts shake me to the core. They make me sad.

I can dress him to the nines, I can change his zip code, I can correct every grammatical error in his speech, I can enroll him in the best schools available, I can push him the highest point of greatness my energy will allow but I can’t prevent him from ever becoming a suspect. Someone somewhere will judge him for the smallest of out of place hair and conclude the worst.

Sir Lil Jones is five. He is not a suspect. Remember that.

Putting folks on notice,

Mrs. Jones