Too Short for a Blog Post, Too Long for a Tweet 320

 

Here are a few excerpts from a book I recently read, "The Hate U Give," by Angie C. Thomas.

Spring in Garden Heights doesn’t always bring love, but it promises babies in the winter. I wouldn’t be surprised if a lot of them are conceived the night of Big D’s party. He always has it on the Friday of spring break because you need Saturday to recover and Sunday to repent.

I’ve seen it happen over and over again: a black person gets killed just for being black, and all hell breaks loose. I’ve tweeted RIP hashtags, reblogged pictures on Tumblr, and signed every petition out there. I always said that if I saw it happen to somebody, I would have the loudest voice, making sure the world knew what went down. Now I am that person, and I’m too afraid to speak.

Sometimes you can do everything right and things will still go wrong. The key is to never stop doing right.

A lump forms in my throat as the truth hits me. Hard. 

“That’s why people are speaking out, huh? Because it won’t change if we don’t say something.” 

“Exactly. We can’t be silent.” 

“So I can’t be silent.” 

Daddy stills. He looks at me. I see the fight in his eyes. I matter more to him than a movement. I’m his baby, and I’ll always be his baby, and if being silent means I’m safe, he’s all for it. 

This is bigger than me and Khalil though. This is about Us, with a capital U; everybody who looks like us, feels like us, and is experiencing this pain with us despite not knowing me or Khalil. My silence isn’t helping Us. 

Daddy fixes his gaze on the road again. He nods. “Yeah. Can’t be silent.”