photo: The Associated Press
Editor’s note: This will be brief because it’s off topic. But I have to share.
One night, many, many moons ago, my boyfriend at the time was driving me home from night at the movies. My boyfriend had a Ford Taurus, which at the time was the isht car to have.
It was about 12, 12:30 in the morning when we were pulled over less than a mile from my house. The officer asked him to step outside the vehicle without asking for license and insurance. They talked for what seemed like 15 minutes, then I had to pass the insurance info out the window. When my boyfriend got back into the car, he was seething.
One thing you’ve got to know about this guy is that he was and is one of the most easygoing people you’d ever meet. Sure, he’s he’s an enormous human being, but it takes a lot to get him to grit his teeth in anger. The officer pulled us over not because he was driving recklessly, not because he was speeding, not even because of some citywide curfew for teenagers that didn’t exist. It was because my young, black, teenage boyfriend was driving near the speed limit. That’s right: boo had the audacity to drive 34 in a 35 mile-per-hour zone in a nice car.
I tell this story because this light form of police harassment happened almost 16 years ago less than two miles from where an 18 year old, not unlike my ex in stature, was killed by a police officer working in North County St. Louis.
Not all police officers choose to be antagonistic toward the black citizens of North County. But I grew up not far from where the turmoil from last weekend started. I know the anger and frustration that the people there feel. I still have family living in that community. My cousin owns a business in that community. And my heart breaks every day that I see new stories come out.
I’ve met some of the journalists covering this story, one of whom was arrested, and I commend them for going after what appear to be war-zone stories. I have to watch from afar, relying on MSNBC, Twitter and the occasional family phone call to keep me updated.
What I can tell you is North County is not Iraq nor Afghanistan nor the Ukraine. It is my home, and it is hurting. I want justice for Mike Brown. I want peace in the home that I love so much. And I want a resolution that causes no more pain to a grieving public.
I’ll leave you with a song that has been on heavy rotation on my iPhone since my cousin suggested it the other day. I hope it eases you as it did me.
I'm Skinny, Now What? 
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