I kept a journal when I was a kid, from about 1989 to 1992. While re-reading it recently, I came across a name I hadn’t seen in years. This person had a very unusual name – first and last – so I looked him up. What I found horrified me. He died several years ago in a jail cell, about two and a half hours after being pepper sprayed, and then Tased by police.
Black male, large, early 30s. Dead after dealing with police. Sound familiar? Only Al Sharpton didn’t come to his funeral, there was no national ‘discussion’ about this and no one protested.
Months later the medical examiner concluded that he died of heart disease and being overweight. Regardless, I can’t help but think that he wouldn’t have dropped dead that day under better circumstances, as the incident would have surely stressed out his heart.
My friend and I went to the same elementary school, often playing together at recess. I mentioned him by name in my journal, which I didn’t do with everyone I knew, so clearly he stood out as a pal of sorts. Though we were hardly close, I knew him for years. Once, he scored a goal in soccer, and people were cheering him. I had been the one to pass the ball to him. “I couldn’t have done it without Benji!” he told everyone.
Though he was a good fella, he did have a tendency to get into trouble for stupid things, like not paying attention in class, or not doing his homework. He wasn’t the best student, but he didn’t fail, either. While these are hardly uncommon things for kids to do, he made it worse by misbehaving while being punished. Again, not uncommon for a child. He would grow out of that, right?
So when he was illegally walking on the side of a major highway, and the police tried to do something about it, I wasn’t too shocked to hear he ignored them, became unruly, was pepper sprayed, then continued to resist arrest. It was like he was still that kid in elementary school, who refused punishment for his minor infraction of the rules, letting things spiral out of control. He didn’t grow up.
Even if I were a sceptic of police reports, particular involving young black males, knowing what I know, what they said is absolutely believable.
Considering the news recently, something like this could have easily become nationally known. He could’ve been a ‘symbol’ for those who believe the police are liars and killers. The facts wouldn’t have mattered, what I knew wouldn’t have mattered, and he’d be widely known as a victim of injustice.
I’m thankful it didn’t come to that. I want to remember him for the fun we had on the playground, not as a lie used to further an agenda. He didn’t deserve to die that day but life can be unfair sometimes, as anyone’s personal flaws can come back to haunt them at the very worst of times. Rest in peace to him.
Now, moving on to a different friend. During my childhood, I had written much more about this guy, and I’m still friends with him today. But there were times, as a child, he would do utterly insane things, frustrating me and others around him. I wrote in my journal that he was destined to do something so stupid one day that it would ruin his life.
Decades later, he did do something stupid, and it could have ruined his life. I don’t want to get into specifics, but he wound up in legal trouble for a blatant knucklehead move. Ultimately, his life was hardly ruined – he’s thriving now, in fact – but the incident was a a life-changing moment and it took years for things to get back to normal.
I wasn’t too thrilled reading my journal and discovering that what I wrote about 24 years ago pretty much came true, but at the same time, I’d be lying if I said I was surprised.
Two friends, two childhood memories, two awful things happen years later that are reminiscent of their earlier years.
Life is one giant Hollywood script and we are all unwitting actors.