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I can’t fathom the thought of someone’s rush to judgment transforming me into the mother of a dead boy.
So when I found myself alone at the local art park watching a pre-teen pass me by, boasting to his friends that he had a gun and was about to use it to shoot someone, I was quite literally unprepared for what came next.Yes, there was one angry kid fired up at the sight of his enemy, but the others were talking him down, pleading for him to use the good sense with which he was born.While walking further away in a futile attempt to provide my own protection, I strained against the bombardment of expletives and mayhem to find the voices of reason in the fray.y family patriarch was keen to wave around a pistol whenever someone threatened his inner-city neighborhood corner store.I have a clear memory of running inside and dropping to the floor of my aunt’s Baltimore rowhouse during a suspected drive by.
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Through the uproar, it was clear his friends hadn’t believed he had a gun either.