So you guys, I’m not usually one for political commentary. Let me rephrase that. I am a full time mother that is on the go from morning-til-night and am so involved in my family, friends, and spirituality that jumping on the interwebs with my opinion usually just doesn’t register. I may discuss things here or there with my inner circle (that term makes me feel so special), but that’s about it.
But I had to share this.
I was having a discussion with Optimus Prime’s mom last week about the Mike Brown case. And she was appropriately outraged. She was so upset that things like this still happened, that inequality in police treatment still exist. I was shocked that she was unaware of that fact. So I related the following story:
I have been in the car when a boyfriend of mine that happened to be black was pulled over for no apparent reason. Several times. I have been in the car when said boyfriend asked to step out of car and searched for no apparent reason. Fortunately, I was not in the car the time he got fed up, cussed the officer out, and was arrested.
However, there was a time when I was in the car.
The time the Big Man got pulled over.
This was when we were first dating. Keep in mind, the Big Man was the first White guy I had ever dated, so at this point, all of my police experiences were the same.
So he’s taking me home in his big lifted Ford pickup. He’s rolling at about 67 in a 60 mph zone. No big, right? Welp, he gets pulled over by an unmarked car. I begin rummaging around for his registration and proof of insurance in the glove compartment.
Officer says: “You know how fast you were going?”
Big Man: “This is bulls—t.”
Um, what did he just say?
Officer: “What was that?”
Big Man: “I said, this is bulls—t”
Big Man: “I wasn’t going that fast and you f—king know it.”
Oh, god. Ohgodohgodohgodohgod. We’re going to jail. I can’t go to jail. I’m not tough; I like Star Wars and think May the Fourth should be a day off. I am not a ride or die chick. I’m a stay home and live chick.
Officer: “—you were going 67 in a 60—“
Big Man: “That’s bulls—t and I’m not paying for a f—king ticket.
At this point my eyes are bugging out of and my hands are shaking with the registration and proof of insurance. I know for a fact that if this officer asks the Big Man to get out of this vehicle the cop will get scared because of his size and then there will be shootout. This man is going to be killed right in front of me and then I’m (for some reason) going to jail. My parents can’t afford bail. I’ll be forced to share a cell with some chick name Brandii who used to strip and got caught selling bootleg DVD’s out of her trunk.
I hand over the papers. Officer Scary looks at them. He looks at me, hands the papers back to the Big Man.
Officer: “Slow down, next time.” And then he walks the green beans away. Just like that. I. Am. Stupefied.
Me: “What just happened?”
Big Man: “He was trying to give me some bulls—t ticket and I wasn’t having it.”
Me: “What do you mean, you weren’t having it? What choice do you have?”
He didn’t understand the question. He really didn’t. Not having a choice never even occurred to him. Being in danger never occurred to him. The possibility of getting arrested never occurred to him. Getting shot wasn’t even a passing thought for him. He believed, still believes, that he has the absolute right to disagree with an officer of the law. What’s even more telling: I still don’t believe that that right really exists. Not for me, anyway. And I tell my kids that they’d better not even think about it.
At the end of my story, Optimus Prime’s mom’s eyes were wide. She sat in complete disbelief. But, really, there was nothing she could say.
And I didn’t know what else to tell her. So we starting talking about our boys and internet porn. I’ll have to tell you about that someday.