Buried Dreams

The class manager of my weekly Jazzercise class in Northeast Washington had a death in the family. The father of her only child was killed last week after being shot multiple times. Her son, 13, will now join the millions of Black boys without fathers.

The news comes on the heels of one of the deadliest shootings in the nation's capital. Violence engulfed an impoverished neighborhood Tuesday night. Once the shooting stopped, four were dead and five were wounded. The motive? The police believe the 20-year-old alleged shooter was upset over a missing bracelet. He thought someone had stolen his bracelet.

Four dead. Four lives lost — over a bracelet?
A Washington Post article reported that a young woman had taken the bracelet to keep it safe. She turned it over to authorities.

Damn.

Four lives. Four dead- over a bracelet?
I wondered what they had dreamed of becoming - a doctor, lawyer, teacher, entrepreneur.

I watched the news: a fearful mother mourned the death of her only child, a grandfather spoke of holding his dying grandson in his arms, a young girl cried out for the young lives lost in her neighborhood and a father, still in shock, wondered why. I wondered the same. Where did this rage come from?

A couple of weeks ago, I had to speak to a group of mostly African American students about my career. The majority lived in the inner city and were in a program to help them get into college. But I was a minority. The majority of speakers did not look like them or me.

It reminded me of a project I had done for the Children's Defense Fund several years ago. I had to interview students at a school for those who could no longer attend public school. One young man I interviewed had been in and out of juvenile detention for stealing cars and even did a stint in jail. He was smart as a whip, extremely talented in math. He liked computers and wanted to be an engineer. But there were no positive male role models in his life, someone he could talk to or look up to for guidance. He was the oldest of five. His mother, in her '30s, was struggling. He stole cars because he was bored. It was fun.

I don't know. I just felt that if this young man had somebody, someone to show him another way, a better way, his life would be different. A member of my Giving Circle suggested we visit a school and talk to young Black students about our careers and experiences. It's a great idea and something I hope we do. Who knows? It could inspire someone.

We are in the nation's capital, where young Black professionals in corporate suits and fancy cars populate happy hours and fundraisers nearly every day of the week. I wonder if there is any room to show our children successful folks who look like them.

What do you think? Where is this rage coming from? What would make a difference in our children's lives?