He Wants to Come Home

I do not want my father on patrol.
I worry for his life more often than naught.
The unrest amongst the black community and police officers
in America is unbearable. I am drowning in the angst of my people.
I commend my fellow blacks for willing to take a stand in the face of police brutality,
yet I cannot forgive the ones who riot in the streets and burn down businesses.
I am horrified that Micah Xavier Johnson felt compelled to take a sniper rifle
and assassinate officers on duty in cold, merciless blood.
The officers were doing their job.
Why should officers be killed for risking their life and fulfilling their duty to their city?

Then there is my father.
A tall, strong African American man who wants to come home to his beautiful,
endearing wife and daughter.

A man who fell in despair at the murders of his fellow brethren – black men
and police officers alike.
His brethren were fathers, sons, and uncles who had been at the wrong place
at the wrong time.

My father is no different from them.
My father is a conundrum and he knows it.
Will he get pulled over, comply with police, and get shot like
Philandro Castille?
Or will he shoot his fellow African American kin and watch in despair
as his beloved city burns to the ground? Will they be chanting his name
in the streets, calling for the DA’s office to prosecute?
Oh Lord, what if that happened?
I couldn’t bear to lose my father to either of these terrifying, turbulent scenarios.
I do not want my father to be murdered for his brown skin that he proudly adorns
or for the uniform he chose to wear on July 28, 1983.

I want to go home, curl myself up next to his body and fall asleep,
just like I did when I was a mere babe.
I want to sing along to music by Eric Clapton, The Eagles, and Bill Withers
with him until our voices die out.
My father wants to come home, kiss my mom on the lips, and watch
westerns outside on the screen porch.
My father wants to call me and ask me how my day went.

I will beg God to spare my father’s life.
Please don’t let him be killed for his skin color
or for the uniform he wears.
Please God!

He wants to come home.
Just like everyone else.