A Black father reflects: Me, my son and Trayvon
Me, my son and Trayvon
by Solomon Jones
I WAS MOVED by the tragic shooting death of 17-year-old Trayvon Martin at the hands of George Zimmerman, a self-appointed Townwatch captain in Sanford, Florida. It wasn’t just the senseless brutality or the racial implications that moved me. It was Trayvon’s smiling picture. He looked like an older version of my 7-year-old son.
Perhaps it was his hopeful smile, or the brown tint of his skin, but Trayvon’s picture was so eerily reminiscent of our son, Solomon, that my wife could no longer watch the news. For her, Trayvon’s face was a painful reminder of the dangers our son might someday face. For me, however, the picture conveyed a simple message: Someday is now, and I must continue preparing my son for the reality of life as a Black man.
I began his preparation at the moment I saw the three-dimensional ultrasound of my handsome baby boy.
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