Member-only story
My Child Wants to Be a Cop — Here’s My Letter to Him
After unlearning my own childhood obsession with the police, I’m giving my child the tools to shape his own worldview
The year is 2020. As usual, the news is on in our home, providing a background ambiance for our daily lives. The reporter, a White woman who is almost in tears, describes the latest developments in the murder of Breonna Taylor.
Murder. I use that word deliberately because seldom is it attached to the deaths of Black people who have done nothing but exist. And that’s what Breonna did. She lived in a world that did not love her, a world that has never loved anyone like her.
I’m frozen.
I want to change the channel, but I can’t. Instead, I stare, wishing that things could’ve been different.
What if “no-knock warrants” were unlawful?
What if they had better information?
What if she weren’t Black?
“Who is Breonna Taylor?”
I turn to my left to see you, all of nine years old, staring intently and waiting for an answer: Why did this happen?
The year is 1993. My mom and I rush down the street. She tries her best to match my pace, but she’s not…
