Running While Black

Maybe I should, but I can't bring myself to watch the video.  Ahmaud Aubrey is dead, and I am shook. 

I run in the inky darkness of the early morning hours, darting down alleys and through public spaces.  Lately, I've run with a black mask and dark bandanna covering my whole head except my eyes.  Yet the only danger I worry about is turning an ankle or riling an unsuspecting animal.  Outdoor running is an important activity for my sanity.  It is health, fresh air, escape, thinking time, daydreaming time, interacting with the built form of my beloved city.

Asher will not enjoy such a privilege.  And that pains me to the core on so many levels.

I want to share another memory that this incident has brought back to the surface.  Many years ago, I took a bunch of teens on a college tour.  We were mindful to hit a wide range of schools: an HBCU, an urban campus, a suburban campus, a commuter school.  It was a long, full, and exciting day, seeing these young women and men take in various university settings. 

I have other stories from this excursion, but one comes to mind now.  We arrived on a campus that was mostly white, walked around a bit, peeked in on a classroom, and then headed for the cafeteria.  I figured our kids would enjoy the freedom of being able to get whatever food you want. 

Instead, one young man stealthily shadowed me through the various food stations.  It didn't bother me, but after we sat down I asked him if he was ok.  He looked at me, and with a voice that was equal parts tough guy and scared child, said, "it's a little scary for me with all these white people around." For a moment, I saw the world from his eyes, and in his eyes,  a single black man in a sea of white people, he wasn't a threat; rather, he felt threatened.

The way we treat young black men in this country is shameful.  And as the father of a future black man, it is deeply upsetting.  To Ahmaud's family, I am sorry, and I join you in your grief, although part of my grieving over him is also my own grieving over what privileges I know my own son will not have when he is Ahmaud's age.