Not that anyone needs reminding, but well, maybe we do.
Tonight I was watching coverage of the Trayvon Martin case. As expected, it’s turned into a three-ring circus complete with leaked information from the police, grandstanding by every famous/hoping-to-be-famous person who could possibly comment, and even secret interviews where the subject’s voice is distorted like he’s outing a cigarette company or fingering some mafia kingpin.
Anyway, it suddenly struck me, during all the hoopla, that a child is dead. Someone’s little boy is dead. He was walking home with some candy, his dad was terrified because he couldn’t figure out where he was, and it turns out some crazy guy probably shot him (I say probably because I remain ever the journalist and we’re still in the “allegedly” stage).
I don’t know what the rest of you were like at seventeen, but most of my friends were “young.” We were skinny and naive and pretty immature. If a 250 pound man started following one of us, we probably would’ve though he was trying to kidnap us. That’s all I keep thinking when I think about Trayvon. He must’ve been so scared. He must’ve been wondering, “Who is this psycho, and can I please, please just get home?”
Now, I’m not an idiot. Of course I know Trayvon is dead. But we’ve crossed over into that point in the story when everyone’s focusing on the details. The tapes, the phone calls, the witnesses. There’s debate and commentary and offensive cartoons. But in the middle of all of this is a boy whose death is slowly, strangely becoming the smallest part of the story.
So tonight, I remembered that at its core, this tragedy is about a boy and his family. But the thing is, when I look at his parents, all I can think is that in some strange way, they must be sort of grateful that they have this crazy hoopla to focus on. That they have this fight for their son to wage. Because at least they don’t have to put their entire focus on the fact that they’ve lost him.
They’ve lost their son.
They’ve lost their son.
Not that they will ever need reminding.
Tammy Soong is a writer, wife, and mom from Reno, Nevada. She takes an absurd amount of pain medication, but not enough to have actually named her children "Newt" and "Elfie." She spends most days stressing out over clutter, writing stuff for this place, and working on podcasts with her gal pals, the Blogging Betties.
Well now you're freaking me out. I too, have an 8 year old with HFA. (Even though yours is no longer testing on the spectrum…it's uncanny). Though my 3-nearly-4 year old is starting to show signs too.
My recent post Something truly terrible has happened
Excellent, as always. I'm a huge fan.
Well, the feeling is definitely mutual.
This whole case just turns my stomach. This kid, the victim, being on put on trial in the media of public opinion for his troubles at school…as if anything he'd ever done would justify his death. Sickens me. Great post. <3
My recent post The Idiocy of Racism – Twitter and The Hunger Games
Thank you for a breath of sanity. When I saw a clip of his mom testifying in front of whatever government group it was, I remember thinking how small and defeated she looked, and courageous at the same time. The only thing I can imagine worse than the hell of losing a child is the hell of knowing there was no illness, no reason, no logic…
I guess we can all just hope for justice, but for goodness sakes, what will that even look like? Great point and writing…thank you…
My recent post Good-bye Cocoa Rose*
Thanks. I know. He could've been an F student who'd been expelled for selling crack. Doesn't mean he should be gunned down for walking.
Exactly.
Thank you. I don't know what justice will look like. As this all comes to light, it seems like we just keep hearing more and more stories that sound the same. It makes me ill. And sad.