My Front Door

When I was younger I never gave much thought about making it home when I was out and about. I just naturally assumed I'd make it home, that no matter what I was into I would make it home somehow, some way. I'd say my goodbyes, kiss my mother, give dad some dap, and avoid the questions about where I was going and when I might be back. I'd grab my keys and lock the front door behind me. When that elevator arrived, I was FREE! The world was my oyster and I was a hungry pup.

As I got older I realized slowly that getting home may not be as easy it was before, that there were certain things I had no control over. So I started watching my step, but I still ran for that front door every chance I got. Now though, instead of heading home drunk at ridiculously late hours, and just assuming I'd be okay I became a little more mature. Maybe I won't have another beer, maybe I'll head home now instead waiting until 4am to make that trek back to the Bronx.

The one time I was approached by at least seven members of the NYPD, all white, and all with their guns drawn, that's when it hit me, getting home safely was now a task I had to accomplish as opposed to something that just happened naturally. It was then that I began to look at my front door a little differently. Before when I used to run through that door so fast to be free that it seemed like the door didn't even open when I left, I began to wonder what was waiting for me on the other side now. I began to wonder if I would make it home. Don't get me wrong, I still hit the streets and acted a fool, but that thought of getting home safely was always in my thoughts.

I knew that if something happened to me, if I didn't walk through that front door, it would literally kill my mother. She wouldn't be able to handle it at all and I can't even try to imagine what mothers feel when they say goodbye to their child and that child never comes home again. I thought about that and suddenly my getting home was all about her. I felt a responsibility to get home safely, to spare my mother the anguish of possibly having to visit me in the hospital or having to identify me in the morgue. I can't speak for all Black men but the two biggest threats to making any one of those happen were the police or other Black men. Navigating through my own kind can be relatively easy at times, the police were harder to read but I did it, I always walked back through that front door whenever I raced out.

Now in the year 2013 AT (After Trayvon), I look at my front door in a way I never have before. Now I not only have to worry about the police shooting me like they did Sean Bell, or being a victim of Black on Black violence, now I have to worry about armed white men as well. When I was younger, that door meant freedom, it meant getting together with friends, it meant laughter, it meant good times. Now that door could open up and lead me to my being injured or worse, death. Behind that door I used to feel stifled, caged, imprisoned but now I know behind that door I am safe, free to be me. Behind that front door I can drop my sword and shield and not worry about an attack. I can ease the minds of those that love me when I let them know that I am home safely. I still go out, I still like to have some fun, but there are people that love me and want me around for awhile, and that is what has me getting home, behind that front door of mine at a reasonable hour now.