Trayvon Martin

Can you image getting that call? It’s the call that every parent fears. It’s the call that tells you your beloved child, flesh of your flesh, blood of your blood, has died an untimely death.  Parents are not supposed to outlive their children.  The very thought tears my soul to pieces in a way I can’t describe. When I see the anguished but determined faces of Trayvon’s parents, I can only imagine their struggle to process his death while finding the strength to manage their grief and seek justice for him.

It is unnatural for a parent to bury a child.

For the last few days I’ve grappled with what I wanted to say about the Trayvon Martin case. I’ve struggled to articulate how the death of this young man has impacted me not just as a parent but as a black mother to a young son.  I know that I’m not the only mother – scratch that – parent who has been moved by this story of a teenage boy who was gunned down before his life has barely begun.  I know that I’m not the only parent who wonders how our country can quantum leap forward and elect our first black president on the one hand, while daily black mothers and fathers worry about their sons’ safety on the other. I know I’m not the only parent wondering how much longer our society can tolerate  our gun-obsessed culture that has made our streets even more dangerous with laws like “Stand Your Ground”.

It’s clear that Trayvon Martin’s death has touched a chord with people of different faiths, races and socio-economic backgrounds.  But this case has special resonance for black parents. We know that the world can be a dangerous place for our young men who, once they’ve reached their teen years, are often viewed as a menace to society just for being black. We know that our young black men are judged by what they wear, how they speak even how they walk. I think New York Times columnist Charles Blow  most accurately captures the questions this case raises about race, profiling and fear black parents of sons experience . If you’ve not read his nuanced op-eds on this tragedy, they are well worth your time.

I look at my beautiful son and wonder how can I keep him safe?

I asked this question of my husband the other night. “How do we keep him safe?”  When I look at pictures of Trayvon’s sunny, open smile and read his mother’s loving description of a boy who loved sports, math, was taking AP English and preparing for college, I think that could be my son.  When D2 and I are out shopping on the weekends, people constantly stop us to chat, give him high-fives or just lean down and say (as they do down South)”That is one pretty baby.”  I know though that in ten or twelve years time, those same people may cross the street , lock their car doors or hug their bags a little more tightly when they see him coming,  because by then he’ll probably be built like his dad – muscular and well over six feet. 

A recent picture of my son D2

And so like thousands of black parents have done before us (and like my parents did with my brother and Dr. D.’s parents did with him and his four brothers), we will have The Talk with D2 when he is old enough. We will talk to him about how to behave if stopped by the police (Keep your hands on the wheel. Look the officer in the eye. Don’t mumble. Don’t make sudden moves. Ask permission to reach for your wallet).  We will talk to him about avoiding parties where drugs and alcohol are consumed because (as my mother said to us growing up) if he is one of the only black kids there, it will be his face that is remembered. We will talk to him about dressing to make a positive impression (School uniform, yes. Button-down shirt and waist-hugging trousers, yes.  Sagging pants and baggy t-shirts, no.)  We will make sure his teachers know we have high expectations of him. That we will expect more of him even if they do not. And even then, we know that no matter how well-dressed, how well-spoken, how good a student he is, there will be some who will simply judge him because he is a young black man.

We have an opportunity to have a real discussion.

At this writing, it’s not clear whether Trayvon’s killer will be arrested, though I am optimistic the special investigator will now fairly consider all of the evidence.  I wish we lived in a “post-racial” society where we didn ‘t have to talk about why race still matters. I wish we didn’t have to talk about why young black men still are dispproportionately likely to die from gun violence than any other group in this country.  What I know for sure is that while nothing can bring Trayvon back, we have an opportunity – family by family, community by community – to have a real discussion about what it will take for us to build communities that are safe and nuturing for all children, regardless of race or socio-economic background. Afterall, Trayvon Martin could have been anyone’s son and that makes him everyone’s son.

I was for the Bailout. I was against the Bailout. I’m for cutting taxes. I’m against taxing the wealthy. I’m for abortion. I’m for making life begin at conception. Sound familiar? Well, I promised you I wouldn’t talk politics in this blog and I still won’t. But it’s high-season in Washington and political junkies that we are at Chez Mount, we’ve been watching every state primary like it was the Summer Olympics. What strikes me is that each day these candidates have to meet with hundreds (if not thousands) of people and declare what they are for or against. Regardless of what side of the political aisle you stand on, you’ve got to admire these folks who run for office. It’s hard work getting up day after day being questioned, challenged, mocked or even cheered on for what you believe.  Most of us would rather go quietly on with our day to day lives than get up in a public forum and talk about what we believe. And that got  me thinking.

Not many of us are put in a position where we have to declare what we stand for.

I’ve started to think more about this when I became a mother. What values did I want to pass on to my son? What did I hope to teach him about the world around him? What am I for? As I get older and wiser, I  find it increasingly easier to articulate what I stand for. It didn’t develop over night. It came from my parents who talked about growing up during segregation and how wrong it is to discriminate against anyone  regardless of race, religion, sexual orientation or ability.  It came from years of working in the PR industry and developing strong beliefs about the kind of career I wanted to have and how I wanted it to be an expression of who I am — not just a paycheck. It came from traveling around the globe starting at age 19 and realizing the incredible richness and diversity of the people I met. It came from thinking about the kind of world I wanted to leave behind for my son and how I could pay it forward.

But how do you really know?

How do you know what you stand for? For some it comes through a spiritual crisis. The other night Dr. D. and I watched a film called Courageous. It was the story of five men in the midst of five very different spiritual crises. One of the men, Javier, was struggling to find  a steady, well-paying job. He was the sole breadwinner for his family of five and had recently gotten a much needed job at a thread plant. He did so well in that new job that the plant manager offered him the job of managing inventory. It would mean a title change and a big raise. There was one catch. Javier would have to report that the plant received less inventory than it really had. He would have to lie. The plant manager gave him 24 hours to decide if he wanted the job. Javier agonized. His wife cried telling him they could barely pay their bills as it was. What would happen if he turned the job down? Would he get fired for not going along? After much soul searching, Javier went back to the plant manager and told him he couldn’t accept the job. The plant manager assured him no one would ever know that he lied. Javier countered that he would know and that he couldn’t betray his values, his family or his faith. The plant manager smiled and told Javier he had the job. He passed the test.  He dug deep to discover his true beliefs and stuck to them.

Yesterday a colleague sent me a copy of the scathing Op-Ed  cum public resignation letter from ex-Goldman Sachs executive Greg Smith. The letter was the kind of F -You letter many us dream of writing when we leave a job feeling disgruntled and injured. In it (and it’s worth a read) Smith slams his former employer for putting profit and agreed ahead of client interest. He lashes out at Goldman Sach’s culture and questions the firm’s moral integrity.  Smith worked for the firm, arguably the world’s most powerful and influential investment bank, for 12 years. I’m sure his letter will be analyzed and deconstructed for the next few media cylcles. But the question I ask (and many commenters are wondering the same), what made him pull such an (some might argue self-destructive) move now?

Cynics question his pang of conscience after he presumably has made millions.

Smith gave multiple reasons for why he believed his former employer has failed its clients and its commitment to leading the industry. But his letter still left unanswered questions for me. I couldn’t glean any insight into what beliefs truly motivated him to leave his firm in such a public, grenade-throwing manner.  Had he secretly been diagnosed with a life-altering illness that is making him reevaluate his life? Had he finally looked deeply at the catastrophe wrought by the financial services industry and felt soul-crushing guilt for his own complicity? Or maybe he just got tired of being part of a firm that was deemed a robber baron in the court of public opinion.  I’d like to think that Greg Smith maybe finally woke up one day and really looked at the essential truths of who he was, what he believed and how aligned his life was with those beliefs. And when confronted wiht those essential truths and beliefs, he realized he could no longer work for a company like Goldman Sachs. But who knows?

“If you don’t stand for something, you’ll fall for anything.”

I guess the point is that it’s not an easy thing to figure out what you stand for. For many of us it will take some kind of crisis to put us on or near the ledge. That crisis will test our faith and force us to decide who we really are and what we really believe. 

 ”If you don’t stand for something, you’ll fall for anything” is one of my favorite quotes and I always think of it during the more trying times in my life. What am I for? For sure, it’s not an easy thing to figure out.  I know I’m a work in progress. I know where I want to head (well, mostly).

I’m for a making sure my son has a clear-eyed view of the world and his responsbility to it.
I’m for helping to create a community that doesn’t tolerate sexism, racism, or homophobia.
I’m for using the amazing blessings I’ve been given to advocate for women and children around the world.
I’m for honoring the blessing of my good health and using that good health to try to reach my potential everyday.
I’m for challenging my own biases and hangups with knowledge and exposure.
I’m for trying to put a  more good in the world than I’ve taken out.
I’m for living a life with purpose and not taking any day I’m given for granted.

 What will you be for?