First, let me get this out. I am just a tad weary. My husband just got up excited at 4:29am to go see his daughters in Virginia Beach. He’s traveling down 95. A Black Man headed to Virginia. And I am slightly fearful so I stay up until he gets there and let him know that I’m riding along. I’m not though and what could I do? What could the girlfriends, wives, mothers, and children do? I hate to think of it much less live it.
What is “it”?
IT is too painful to say.
Black-folk say, “Be careful, they’out there this weekend,” or any day for this matter.
Who are “they”?
We, black-folk stay vigilant.
“Got your ID? Your registration? Where are you going to put it?” I say to him.
“That’s sad, Tami.” He shakes his head.
“I know but I don’t care about that right now. Don’t be on the phone.” Then I stop and can’t go back to sleep because my thoughts scream. This is a grown man not a boy.
My dad would say, “Let me check your oil.” My husband says, “We got to get the tail light fixed.” Yes, we know all of these things must be taken care of for safety reasons, but there is another unspoken behind all these checks. We can’t have any reason, ANY other reason to get caught in this system. Any.
Yes, we got prayer. We have come this far by faith. We got all that and we stay vigilant. It’s a matter of life.
There’s history behind our fears that do not come from reading about it in a textbook but these are taught by our American system.
There’s history behind the vigilance that run in the blood of the black-folk.