I’m an Angry Black Man

I’ve broken many bones in my life, some of which required a hospital visit, and several months of physical therapy. My scars are like badges of honor and each tells a story about my life. To say that I was a reckless kid is an understatement.

I didn’t fear much when it came to physical harm, and I pushed myself to experience any thrill that I could. With age, my need for thrill-seeking has taken a backseat to maturity and responsibility. I have bills to pay and people who depend on me, so injuries are to be avoided. Although, I do still have some fears.

I’m afraid of walking through mostly white neighborhoods, driving through the south, and extended conversations in groups where I’m the only person of color.

I’m afraid of being accused of wrongdoing, and presumed guilty because of the melanin in my skin.

And, I’m afraid of the police because I know that most institutions in this nation, including law enforcement, were not created for my benefit.

My fears are justified despite being told that I’m “overreacting,” “too preoccupied with race,” and…