We are separated by a generation, a thousand miles, and I haven’t worn a hoodie since I was an undergrad, but I am still Trayvon Martin…
when I am (still) followed around stores
when I cross the street at night before some random she has a chance to just so I won’t have to suffer the indignity of watching her jaywalking away from the dangerous me
when I hear doors lock as I pass near a car
when I am unfailingly polite to rude police officers because the consequences of not doing so are disproportionate
when I am routinely passed by empty cabs on the street
when I am reminded that my tailored suits and fancy education don’t really make me immune to the everyday slights
when I encounter (too goddamn frequently) the realization that the color of my skin is probable cause for suspicion
and I am Trayvon’s father when I delivered the “Talk” to my 20year old nephew who I pray will never have to give that talk when he is my age
Posted by restaurant refugee 
