W
I write this now coming from a place of privilege. I grew up with an amazing mother and was afforded more opportunities than most and for that I am grateful. It is because of her than I am even making this photo essay. Without her love and support, I wouldn’t be half the man I am today.
Growing up my mother never once said a Black man killed your father, she always said a bad man did. This didn’t mean much to me until I was old enough to understand it. Race wasn’t important in the killing of my father nor would it be in our household for the rest of our lives. Throughout college, my mother’s composure began to resonate in my mind like a song on repeat. My last winter of college my family and I went to court for the resentencing of the man who killed my father. I spoke to him and looked him in his eyes. I saw a weak man and I felt bad. I felt empathy, forgiveness, and I felt ignorant. I had no idea what this man could have been through as a child or even as an adult. What lead him down the path of killing another human? It was then I realized my mother’s action we’re always in the shape of empathy. She never complained or identified as a victim. She was the only victim I really knew and yet she felt sorrow for all parties affected. I think the world needs more of that now more than ever. Empathy.