Am I Next?

*this is a very vulnerable post. I normally don’t do posts like this, but I just needed to express my own heart*

Is it my turn? Will today be my day, my turn?

Will I be the next case, the next protest, the next TV/social media hashtag craze, fueling more dissension in racial relations?

I can’t help the thoughts that cloud my mind every day as I leave my apartment, locking the door, wondering if it will be my last time. I honestly hate being that person, but I feel my heart tap-dancing with anxiety each time I see a police cop slide in line behind my vehicle.

With so many cases of police brutality, particularly in white on black crimes that typically end with the suspect (normally black) left dead at the hands of the cop (white), it’s no wonder why I feel the way I do. But I feel sad that this is how I have to feel. In a time where we should be, at least, at a point where we can tolerate each other, I almost become miserable turning on the TV.

It’s especially tough as a news reporter to see these cases and think, “How do I even approach these types of cases? Which side do I stand on? What angle am I suppose to cover? What am I to do?”

Brokenhearted by the pain, I only can sit at my desk, watching the posts all over social media, watching the various TV news stations cover the story, watching tears shed from mothers and father who no longer can see their children and the posters with slogans printed bold and clear. My mind races with various thoughts that I can’t properly articulate, but the brewing of emotions in my heart are more than enough to express my truth.

But am I next?

Will my turn be today? I feel like I’m walking on eggshells that have already been crushed enough to no longer handle my weight. The burdens of being a black male have already been more than what I anticipated growing up, but now…I’m not sure anymore. When I get in my car, I’m constantly checking to make sure that I have no excuse for a cop to pull me over, and possibly lead me to an early grave.

And it it’s not me next, then who? And what about my children? Will they have to face the same struggles? I don’t want to raise my children in fear of their lives simply because they are a little darker than their best friend in second grade.

I only wish that I could continue to hold on to the childlike faith and love for life, where color was not a question or deciding factor in how you interacted with others. That I could return to the innocence of youth, where friends were easily formed by racing to the sandbox and building mud pies.

I don’t want to grow up bitter, but it’s hard not to when that seed is constantly forced into the soil of my heart every couple of days. I don’t want to view life through black glasses, but my rose-colored glasses seem to have been shattered. I don’t want to be so “pro-black” that I am “anti-white” but where are the messages that are “pro-people”? When does it stop?

Does it start with me? Am I next?

Next in line to start the revolution of love in the world? The next to start the move toward equality? Maybe we do need a reminder of the Civil Rights Movement. Maybe we need to be reminded how strong and amazing we are as people when we come together. Maybe we need to have our cages rattled a little bit.

Am I next?

Is it my turn? Dr. King is gone; who took his place? Is that why I am here? Has the baton been dropped and now I have the responsibility to pick it up and march forward? Do I take the cases and make them about learning love and forgiveness over hatred and violence? Is it time that I preach what Jesus preached, which was to love your enemies? Is it now the moment that I be an example of how to overcome the hatred and anger that now consumes the lives of so many?

Am I next? I have a question to be answered? Am I next? Or are you? Who takes the stand from here? Where do we go? I stand at the crossroads, wondering which way I need to turn. Left or right?

Am I next? Is the cop behind me going to flash their sirens and pull me over, opening a door to confrontation. And will I walk through or stand in the hallway, only watching, but not participating?

Am I next? Will I spend my days hating and bashing, or loving and encourgaing?

Am I next?

Am I next?

AM? I? NEXT?