Young, Black, and Targeted… Just for Living

It wasn’t Shane that rode into town on this day.

How quickly our lives can change in an instant. Those life experiences we gather over time that give us purpose can quickly be wiped away at the hands of someone with little regard for the preservation of life, especially a young life.

Traveling while Black in a white space was and is always a challenge. Less than ideal encounters that could easily turn ugly were often at the forefront of thought. Knowing the potential dangers, a white family with an adopted Black child could face in the early ’70s greatly impacted the trajectory of my childhood.

It wasn’t enough to be leery of the world around you that openly regarded you as subhuman, an object, or worthy of nothing in life — you needed to have a balance of strength and support from those close to you to help you forge ahead.

Times were certainly not easy. The racial powder keg that was Boston post-civil rights movement spawned a widespread attitude that thought any threat to the status quo should be identified and ultimately extinguished.

This sentiment was not reserved solely for the northeast. It was nationwide and proved to be potent and lethal in every nook and cranny of the country.

Go west, young man

The summer of 78’ saw another opportunity to travel away from the comfort of the northeast and explore what the far west had to offer. This family vacation would be an ambitious one that wrote its own itinerary even before it was imagined but taking a break from Boston’s unrest was much needed.

On route to the Grand Tetons, we stopped for a night or two just outside Atlantic City, a small town in central Wyoming. Captured by the beauty of the area, it was difficult to envision any potential microaggressions that could befall.

While exploring the many back roads and hilly pastures that made up the landscape, we came across hundreds of sheep off in the distance milling about. In the middle of this congregation were herders tending to their daily responsibilities. As we drove past, it only seemed natural to offer a communal wave to the roaming herd. Bonus, of course, getting a fidgety seven-year-old involved and interested made sense at the time. Satisfied with our friendly gesture, we continued on welcoming as much scenery as we could absorb.

Hours later is when our innocent and neighborly greeting from earlier became the catalyst for an unwarranted, and aggressive display of anger.

Not long after we settled in for the evening back at the campground, we heard aggressive galloping getting closer and closer by the second. Startled, my parents and I stood up from our campfire dinner only to be confronted by two men on horseback circling our campsite.

At my tender young age, the squishy substance that occupied my skull had yet to yield any significant influence or comprehension for the matters of life. Dissecting events and the potential combative nature of the riders had little impact on my young brain. This was the responsibility of my parents who had the added pressure of keeping their Black child from being the target of increasing hate during a time of surface-level social unrest.

Riding while under the influence

Seeing someone atop a horse with a gun acting out like an exaggerated testosterone-laden renegade on steroids, to a little kid seemed superhero-ish. Riding into a crowded campground looking to hand out justice to an anonymous criminal underworld seemed exciting — something I only saw in comic books and movies. This scenario however was simply a fantasy in my head. The reality was that the situation was less than ideal and could go south right quick.

Never fully grasping their whereabouts, the two nightriders haphazardly rode around our tent exposing their obnoxious underbellies. Surprisingly, once the drunken wannabe cowboy who led the charge locked eyes on my father, his demeanor changed quickly. His determination was now on full display. Lit with the aroma of whatever was on sale that day, he saw it fit to disrupt our early evening activities. As he approached us, he raised his rifle and pointed it at me. My father, now diagonal to this perched perpetrator, began his questioning as he readied himself in protection mode.

The cowboy, too concerned with his show of intimidation began his questioning as well, only with more hostility. “Do you think you’re better than us?” “What gives you the right to make fun of us?”

His rifle now fixed on my father. “You don’t belong here.”

A few colorful words followed which painted the true intent of this uninvited scene of derogatory terrorizing, making the opportunity for possible calm non-existent.

At this point, there was no question — these were the sheepherders we saw earlier in the day.

Just as the rifle was headed back toward me, my father grabbed the barrel and forced it down, slightly throwing this misguided “sheep’s bestie” off balance. A bit embarrassed, he regained his composure but not his sobriety and quickly switched to a different tactic. “That boy want a ride on my horse,” pointing his rifle yet again in my direction. An odd offering, and given the current fervor of the moment, letting a seven-year-old Black boy ride with an intoxicated white agitator with a rifle who seconds before was threatening to shoot, didn’t seem wise.

My father, still trying to defuse the situation, calmly refused the “cowboy-lite’s” offer and told him, yet again, to stop pointing his rifle at me: “My son is not getting on your horse. Please leave us alone.” By this time a small crowd of campers had gathered and surrounded the periphery of our site.

I like to think this guy saw the error of his ways, but it was his cohort who spoke up just as the heated exchange peaked and suggested that they retreat and leave us be. Perhaps it was the growing number of onlookers but this “second banana’s” better sense or clear mind broke through the fog and a calmer head prevailed. Either way, the scene was thick with fear, and the stench of trying to intimidate something foreign to the insecurities of a person not equipped to formulate any type of respectable thinking still held us captive.

The two began to ride off but before they left the site, the lead “herder extraordinaire” turned to gift us his parting goodbye… “I better not find you or your n****r boy around my field again.”

Crisis averted but the mental trauma has followed our family from time to time over the years. Though my memory has yet to yield the clearest picture of those unfortunate events on that day, the little I do recall is a precursor to the injustices I have since experienced.

Live and let live

For a young multiracial family trying to live their life, enjoy the days that were upon them, and embrace the freedoms that ALL are supposedly afforded in this country, the reality of having to constantly survive often came along for the ride. Yet when my mind wanders back to those times of innocence, I am reminded of how easy it was for the insecurity and hatred of others to brazenly impact the lives of people who do nothing but go about their business.

How, in an instant, life can change on a dime at the hands of hate, or at the very least misplaced insecurity. How, if it were not for my parents providing their parental protection, or for a sudden “come to Jesus” moment for the other sheepherder, I could have been snuffed out all because of an ignorant, inebriated cowboy wannabe looking to intimidate and potentially harm, or worse.

The stories that form this part of my childhood, too many to count yet with certain clarity, did serve a purpose. I believe we had to go through these traumatic tests in order to harness our resolve, and how to stay frosty when it comes to the world around us. Of course, had it not been for the intellectual negotiation and protective foresight of my parents, or the sudden clarity of the other rider, there is a good chance I would not be chronicling these events now.

People fear what they don’t understand and hate what they can’t conquer. — Andrew Smith

Admittedly, a naive perspective on how the world works but why are there so many people hell-bent on inserting themselves into the lives of others if for no other reason than to cause pain, devastation, or to create an environment of social disruption?

Supposedly in the mind of that rider, he felt he was being made fun of because we waved at his sheep. To think he stewed on this for the rest of the day plotting how he would inflict his rage and save face speaks volumes about those who harbor such insecurities and fears. How he found us is a mystery, but he did, and the outcome could have been much worse.

No regard for others. No regard for common sense, and no regard for life, just a determination to rebuild his ego and assuage his blatant insecurity by intimidating innocent people who were just trying to be nice.

It is always a challenge to be on the side of calm and bargaining, working to inject intellect and commonsense into an oppressive landscape you did not create yet are forced to deal with.

• Interaction with police

• Voter restriction

• Educational inequity

• Employment discrimination

• Healthcare inequity

• Protesters’ rights

• Economic inequality

• Dismantling systemic racism

This is the charge every day for the Black community — negotiation to let us live our lives.

As long as I plant foot on ground, and keep my mind focused on living my best life, I will constantly be reminded of what is out there and how quickly it can turn ugly, all because of who I share airspace with and their inability to see me as a human being.

Thank you for reading!