There comes a point where I become nauseous reblogging posts about Ferguson, about the men and women also killed by police brutality and about the blatant racism still alive today.
I cried Monday night for so many reasons. I cried because of the refusal to indict. I cried because of frustration at Obama (which I realized was wrongly placed). I cried because in that moment it was so hard to imagine a God that would let such wrongs go unpunished. In that moment, I had never felt so far away from God and I have been suicidal, a place where there is no one at all.
But I cried because I can’t bare the thought of having a child some day and having him potentially taken away from me like that.
I can’t bare the thought of raising a child in a world where I have to explain to him that there are just some things you can’t do. You can’t wear a hoodie. You can’t put your hands in your pockets if you’re going into the store. You can’t make direct eye contact with certain people while you’re in the car.
I don’t want there to be a day when he comes home from school and asks me why he is treated differently because there is no real answer I can possibly give him.
I don’t want to let someone I love live in a world where there is so much hate.
The world is like this. I have my time, with which I hopefully will make a difference. But if I have the choice, I will never voluntarily bring someone into this world. Not for the kind of life he will have.
