When Did It Begin?

One evening, while at the park with my nieces and nephew, I informed them that we would have to leave shortly thereafter. Due to the sunrise/sunset rule for patronizing the park. Of course, they, being six-years-old and younger, didn’t understand, nor did they agree. 

“But why, Auntie?” they asked. 

“Because we have to follow the rules to not get into trouble,” I replied. 

Challenging this notion, they asked for the world-renowned “5 more minutes” to continue in their play. 

As I stood there looking into their pleading faces, considering allowing them to play for a minute more, a police cruiser pulled into the park parking lot. 

My heart dismissed any thought of staying one second longer, as I instructed the children to come along as I headed toward the parking lot, in a calm manner, racing to our car. The thought of making it to our car had overtaken the situation. 

I could hear them making their opposing arguments, still trying to convince me to let them play. 

“The police just pulled up, babies. We have to go, now”, I said to them. Not wanting to go into too much detail with them, knowing they weren’t able to fully understand why there was an urgent need to vacate the premises. I just felt the overwhelming need to protect them, even from their own blissful ignorance. 

The police exited his vehicle and asked aloud, “Is that your vehicle?” 

“Yes, Sir,” I could be heard responding. 

“We are leaving now,” I added, to assure him we would not be in noncompliance with the law. Clearly pleased with my response, he turned his attention to the children. My heart racing, I motioned for them to get into the car, calmly, of course. The police, seemingly sensing what I was thinking, being in this situation, a woman with three children in a dark park, alone with a police officer present, asked if the children could have a sticker? 

My nieces and nephew looked up to me, their pleading eyes making another appearance, waiting for me to respond to the police officer. I’m sure hoping for me to say yes. Seeing their innocence in that moment, I said they could have a sticker. Excitedly, they received the stickers from the police officer. 

Afterward, they entered the car, and the police got in his cruiser. 

In the car, while listening to the babies talk about the stickers, as my oldest niece made a last effort to get more time to play at the park; with her saying the police didn’t say they couldn’t play at the park, and how he even gave them stickers. 

I thought about how, when my siblings and I were around their age and how we were given those ‘Junior Officer’ gold stickers. 

Then, my mind began to wonder about how old they would be when they would no longer be looked at as cute and little worthy of the gold sticker? 

Sure, being 6, 4, and 3 years old is cute and sweet. But what about when they are 16, 14, 13?… 

How old are you when you transition from getting a sticker or being involved in a stick-up with possibly the same officer?

And no, it wouldn’t be to take trivial items like shoes, money, or an electronic device… Oh, no, no, no. It would be to take your breath away literally. Your breath is sought after. To be more direct, your last breath is wanted. Your breath isn’t requested; it’s required. Be it a knee to the neck or a bullet to the back. 

“I can’t breath!” 

“I can’t breath!” chants rang out in the streets. 

Mission accomplished?… 

Black bodies bought at a set rate… justice? 

As I looked upon the children’s faces and saw how getting a sticker from the police was nothing to them. How they felt no fear or danger at being around a representative of a system, deceptively masked as protection and service for and to us, I thought about how I, like them, felt as they did once upon a time. But at what age did this change occur? It seems to have happened with my being unaware of it. 

How could that have happened without me knowing? 

Could it have happened when I saw loved ones harassed by them, being stopped and searched, their backgrounds ran for warrants when they would only be walking through the neighborhood or standing at the corner store? 

Could it have happened when I saw how they would slam, hit, kick, and brutally abuse people who would give me and my siblings a dollar to get snacks with? People who we would affectionately refer to as Auntie and Uncle, not by blood but in love. 

Did it happen when I saw how they could take people’s lives with no penalty attached? I’m sure when all the people who were harassed, abused, or killed by the police were 3, 4, and 6 years old, they saw them as I perceive my nieces and nephew to see them: as the good guys and helpful. 

I only hope and pray that they don’t have to make that transition like so many of us were forced to. 

But it’s not up to us… 

It’s up to them, the police, to keep that from happening. 

No child woke up one day and decided to feel as they do about a group of people they once admired. Some even wanted to be like them. Something or a collection of things happened that destroyed their innocent imaginations and forced them into a harsh reality that they have to accept to survive. 

Elohim, protect our babies’ hearts, minds, and souls from all evil. 

Please keep them innocent and pure, untainted by the pollution of wickedness and injustice, whether they are looked at as being worthy of a gold sticker or not.

-Jessica Smith