A Group Of Black Boys Shot A Gun At My Father For Fun

I grew up in the suburbs of Washington, DC. As a family of four we lived in a safe neighborhood of diverse families from all backgrounds. Most of our neighbors were formally educated, married homeowners.

I was entering my teenage years when our quaint, close-knit neighborhood began to change for the worse. Southeast, DC was gentrifying, and as a result many households, mainly headed by single mothers who rented, were displaced and forced to find homes elsewhere.

Some of these families were able to start anew in the few apartment buildings on the outskirts of our neighborhood, and that’s where the problems began.

A neighborhood watch was initiated shortly after the black boys belonging to these fatherless homes would patrol the streets into the wee hours of the morning, looking for trouble by way of stealing.

“I saw a group of teenage boys sneak into your backyard and try to steal both your bikes late last night,” my next door neighbor of many years said to my brother and me one morning. “Once I turned on my lights and went outside I asked what they were doing. They dropped your bikes and ran off.”

My father is a black man but he never sugarcoated anything, even on matters related to race. While he acknowledged that factors outside of our control exist…