If You Love Me, Do Not Call the Police


I do not want to die.


Because I am far from infallible, I am willing to concede the slight possibility that there exists a scenario in which I may benefit from the presence of the police. Even though I’ve tried to imagine such a situation doesn’t exist, I admit that I may have overlooked some hypothetical plight where cops save my life.

Maybe there are zombies involved and a real-world Rick Grimes rescues me by stabbing the rapidly advancing undead in the head. Or perhaps I will one day feel depressed at a party where the music is provided by a moonlighting deputy sheriff and, unbeknownst to me, a DJ saves my life. However, I’m going to go out on a limb and ask that if you ever think that I am in peril—even if you see me being attacked by animated corpses—there is one thing I beg of you:

Do not call the police.

Ever.

If you think someone might be burglarizing my home, do not call the police. Because they might shoot me like they did 28-year-old Atatiana Jefferson. Or 23-year-old Brendon Hester. Or 22-year-old Stephon Clark. My television isn’t worth dying over. Read More

Family with Tablet

Black Parent Magazine, Inc, is committed to helping parents of black children build happy,confident and healthy families. 

2020 by Black Parent Magazine, Inc

NEVER MISS AN UPDATE