Trying to Breathe

I'm trying to breathe, which ain't easy as it's hot as Hades here in New York, and will be for days, and there's no way to escape the oppression and the heaviness of this heat, nor the feelings of injustice that make the air seem toxic.

I'm trying to breathe. Trying to understand how, in this country, we have lawmakers who enact laws that pretend that we are all equal, when in fact being white and having a gun makes you more equal than anyone else; trying to understand how it is that Trayvon Martin was the one who was sentenced, while his killer was set free.

I'm trying to breathe. Trying to know why George Zimmerman was permitted to silence the boy forever, preventing him from telling his side of the story, so it doesn't matter if he felt scared, or if he felt threatened, or if he wanted to stand his own ground when approached by a guy who was obviously out to get him. The boy is dead, so he doesn't have a say. His killer chose not to take the stand, and yet the kid didn't have a choice--he couldn't say a word, so it was he, the victim, who was convicted of the crime--of scaring an older man, who was in the safety of his own car, until he chose to get out of it. The circumstances are so confounding, one can hardly understand how it occurred, nor how it took six weeks for the murderer to be arrested. Though I may try to find them, there are no words.

I'm trying to breathe. Trying to refrain from blaming the jury, as they did not write the laws that protect gun owners and shooters, and that governed the admissible evidence and limited parameters of the trial. But like those jury members, I am a white woman, and so, like them, I can't possibly understand what it is to be the mother of a boy who is born vulnerable. Had I any sons, I would not be obliged to have "the talk", in which black parents teach their sons to be obsequious to law enforcement in all encounters, as a matter of protection.

I'm trying to breathe. Trying to take all this restless, pessimistic energy and not lose sight of hope. If you have to have "the talk" with your sons, I wish you and your boys strength and courage. If you don't, here's what I wish for you: I wish you also would have "the talk" with your kids. Talk to them about the fiction of a post-racial society. Make them consider what it would be like to be Trayvon Martin. The only thing that will ever fix the seemingly intractable problem of prejudice is love, empathy and understanding. Call me a hippie if you like, but this I do believe.

I'm just trying to breathe.

A Gun: The Perfect Gift For Any 5-Year-Old

Did you see the story about the five-year-old who accidentally killed his two-year-old sister with his "My First Rifle," which the family "kept in a corner" of their home? The boy's gun was had been given to him as a gift--a common practice, apparently, in many communities in the US. The manufacturer of the child's gun, a "Crickett rifle", has a "kids' corner" on its website.

Or maybe you heard the story--also this past week--about the Florida 2-1/2-year-old who shot and killed his mother? The boy's father was right there when it happened--he just couldn't get to the child quick enough to prevent the gun from shooting.

I can see, in a way, exactly how this happened. Last week my two-year-old asked me to fill her water cup. In the two seconds it took me to do that, she grabbed my laptop off the table. I turned around, still screwing the lid on the cup, as she smiled and said, "No Loulou!" while dropping the computer hard on the floor. So hard that the computer's screen is completely and utterly broken. ("Oh no. Bow-ken," she said. Cute.) I was right there. I'm usually careful with keeping things out of her reach. But I couldn't prevent her from this random and irrational little outburst of toddleritis. It's a good thing it wasn't a gun.

The bottom line is that I don't get guns for kids, or near kids. I just don't get it. I know I'm full of coastal-urban-intellectual bias. That is to say, I fully recognize that I have trouble understanding the need for guns in people's homes at all. I'm on the far side of a cultural divide that sometimes seems unbridgeable. But being that I live in the same country in which these awful events are continuing to occur, it makes me think about our nation's child safety standards. Shouldn't it be obvious that it's dangerous to have guns near kids?

It need not be said that many more firearm deaths are happening on a daily basis in the hands of older children--i.e. teens. [To get a sense of the incredible danger that guns pose to adolescents with ready access to them, listen to This American Life's two-part series on Chicago's Harper High School. It is eye-opening, and terrifying.] But when it comes to young children, we have expectations and laws about keeping their environments safe.

Among items that have had major recalls for safety concerns in this country are: fleece drawstring hoodies, toys with magnets that a child could swallow, and drop-side cribs. None of these items are designed to kill children, mind you. They are all usually safe if used correctly and under supervision of an adult. But this is exactly the same argument that gun-rights advocates make about guns for and near children.

We know that children are fallible--they don't yet have fully developed brains. The fact of the matter is, no adult is perfect either, or perfectly attached to their child at all times of day. It doesn't make sense to buy a gift for a child that can kill. And it doesn't make sense to keep deadly weapons in any home where a child lives.

Why this is even up for debate in our safety-concious nation remains a mystery to me.