The New York Times today—the day of his funeral— had this to say about #MichaelBrown. “Michael Brown, 18, due to be buried on Monday, was no angel, with public records and interviews with friends and family revealing both problems and promise in his young life. Shortly before his encounter with Officer Wilson, the police say he was caught on a security camera stealing a box of cigars, pushing the clerk of a convenience store into a display case. He lived in a community that had rough patches, and he dabbled in drugs and alcohol. He had taken to rapping in recent months, producing lyrics that were by turns contemplative and vulgar. He got into at least one scuffle with a neighbor” I’m including no link here. Find it on your own if you wish, but I won’t drive any traffic to this travesty. What they have to say here sounds like pretty normal behavior from a teenage boy. It absolutely does not excuse the fact that he was shot multiple times and killed while unarmed. Brown is now on trial before the american people, while the man who shot him has yet to even be indicted. This is racism, people. This is what it looks like now. If you think it’s contained to your neighbor with the mullet and the pickup truck, think again. It is sewn into the fabric of this country, and if we do not take a long hard look at that, if we don’t actively try to rip out those seams, it will be there forever.
I was in the stacks helping a young girl find a particular series of books.
Me [handing her a book]: “If you like that series, you might like this one.”
Girl [frowning]: “My friend says that series is for boys.”
Me: “You wanna know a secret? They’re for everybody. You can read whatever the heck you want.”
Girl [grins and takes book]
My father’s first wife threatened suicide
after he and my brother, Sean, moved out,
so they had to break into their own house
when no one answered. My father boosted Sean
through the window, but before he did, knelt in the front
yard and grabbed his son’s shoulders. Don’t look
at anything, he said. Go straight for the door
and let me in. Look at me. Look at me. Don’t look…[more]
I just like this poem