August 9, 2014 changed my life. That date is burned into our memory as the day Michael Brown was killed. But it’s also the date my son, King, turned 1.
So we’re getting ready for his get-together – blowing up balloons, firing up the barbecue – when my social media starts going crazy. I get the picture of a young man lying motionless in the middle of the street.
I didn’t know what to do. But something compelled me to go out there. Before I saw that image, I wasn’t an activist. I’m from 4300 Gibson, the South Side of St. Louis, the ‘hood. I had seen 30 or 40 Mike Browns in my life, young men between the ages of 16 and 24 killed by the police. What was so different now? Read more here.