Waiting for the Police

My first encounter with the police was when I was still in elementary school. As my dad drove me home, seven police cars surrounded us. They held him at gunpoint as he stepped out of the car. I sat inside the car wondering what had gone wrong. Maybe my dad had been lying to me this whole time about being a “plumber” and he was in trouble with the police.

Soon the police let my dad go (he really is a plumber) and we were on our way. They told us that somebody had been seen getting into a similar car as my dad’s wearing a bulletproof vest and it was just a mix up. Even though it had been a simple mistake, all I could think about was the image of my dad being handcuffed against a police car. Even though I was in the car losing my mind, as a 10-year old would do, my dad seemed calm and collected. I had to ask, “Was that your first time being in cuffs?” and he nonchalantly responded “no.”

I know he’s never been a criminal, but the way he responded implied that it was obvious he’d been in trouble with the police anyways. I once saw a video saying that every black man has his “police moment,” and it told me exactly what my dad’s reply had told me. No matter what you do, as a black man, you’re going to have to deal with the police even if you don’t deserve it.

I’ve been lucky enough to not have any encounters with the police outside of the time my dad’s car was stopped, but I’ve begun to wonder how long it’s going to last. As a black guy who is six feet tall, weighs two hundred pounds, and lives in a bad part of Boston, my dad has had to deal with more than his fair share of run-ins with the police, but I haven’t had any at all. Is it because my friends are white? Is it because I’m only sixteen?

It has just become a reality for black men in this country that the police we’ll treat us unfairly. To some extent, I’m grateful that my dad has only been handcuffed and nothing worse has happened to him. Now I’m hoping that my moment will be something minor such as being pulled over for no reason, getting handcuffed, or being followed. All of those are much better than a beating or a shooting. But no matter what I do, mine is inevitable. My streak of avoiding it has lasted for a couple of years, but it won’t last forever.