We were at the Juneteenth festival—music, food trucks, kids running wild, the entire neighborhood crammed into the streets.
I’d only glanced away for a second to pay for a funnel cake.
But when I turned back, my nephew Zavi was gone.
Panic struck me like a tidal wave.
I dropped everything.
I started shouting his name.
I checked every bounce house.
I scanned every face in the throng.
I was two seconds from dialing 911 when I spotted him—curled up, sound asleep, in a police officer’s arms.
The officer stood off to the side.
He was calm, as if this wasn’t even the first time such an incident had occurred.
He gave me a slight nod when I rushed up, breathless and trembling.
He said Zavi had wandered off near the snow cone truck and become tired.
“Didn’t want to leave him alone,” he stated, as if it were an ordinary occurrence.
I thanked him.
I took Zavi back.
I tried to dismiss it.
But I noticed people whispering behind me, their phones held up.
Some were smiling.
But others were not.
One woman near the food stand shook her head.
She muttered, “It must be pleasant to receive that kind of response.”
At first, I didn’t comprehend it.
Then it became clear.
They weren’t discussing Zavi falling asleep.
They were discussing who was holding him—and what it would’ve appeared like if circumstances were even slightly different.
And now I cannot cease wondering…
Would he still be safe if he didn’t appear so small, so innocuous, so weary?
The question lingered in the air, heavy and unsettling.
It burrowed into my thoughts.
It replayed the scene in my mind.
Officer Davies, that was his name, had been genuinely kind.
He was a reassuring presence in my moment of utter terror.
He’d handed Zavi over with a gentle smile, a brief explanation, and that was that.
End of story, right?
But the whispers, the glances, the comments – they depicted a different narrative.
One layered with the intricacies of race and perception.
What if Zavi had been older, taller?
What if he hadn’t been asleep, but merely wandering, perhaps a little confused or frightened?
Would the interaction have unfolded identically?
Would Officer Davies have approached him with the same tranquil demeanor?
Or would suspicion have influenced his actions?
That night, sleep proved elusive.
Every time I closed my eyes, I envisioned Officer Davies holding Zavi.
But the image continually shifted.
Sometimes, Zavi was giggling, reaching out to touch the officer’s badge.
Other times, he was fidgeting, his small hands moving in a manner that could be misconstrued.
And in those more somber imaginings, the officer’s face was sterner, his grip firmer.
The next day, I couldn’t shake the feeling.
I discussed it with my sister, Zavi’s mom.
She’d heard the whispers too.
We’d both seen the expressions.
And we both knew, deep down, that the hue of Zavi’s skin played a role in how that moment was perceived.
We resolved to take action.
Not out of anger.
Not to instigate trouble.
But to initiate a dialogue, to perhaps even ignite a small transformation.
We posted about the incident on social media.
We carefully recounted what transpired.
We praised Officer Davies for his kindness.
But we also acknowledged the undercurrent of racial tension that had rippled through the crowd.
The post went viral.
Comments flooded in.
A mixture of support, anger, and denial.
Some individuals accused us of fabricating an issue, of being excessively sensitive.
Others shared similar accounts, their own experiences of how race had shaped their interactions with law enforcement.
One comment stood out.
It was from Officer Davies himself.
He thanked us for recognizing his actions.
But he also conceded that he understood the underlying concerns.
He stated it was a reminder of the work that still needed to be accomplished.
Of the conversations that needed to occur.
That led to an unexpected development.
The local police department contacted us.
They wished to utilize our experience as a training opportunity.
A means to discuss implicit bias and community relations.
They invited us to speak at a town hall meeting.
To share our story and our perspectives.
It was nerve-wracking.
Standing before a room full of people, including several police officers, and speaking about something so raw and sensitive.
But we did it.
We spoke about our fear when Zavi went missing.
Our relief when he was found safe.
And the unsettling realization that the narrative could have been profoundly different.
Officer Davies was present that night.
He also spoke, sharing his own reflections and experiences.
He spoke about desiring to be a positive presence in the community.
About comprehending the historical context that influenced people’s perceptions.
The conversation was not easy.
There were tense moments.
Disagreements.
Uncomfortable truths.
But there was also a sense of genuine attentiveness.
A willingness to engage.
It felt like a modest step, but a step nonetheless, towards bridging the divide between the community and the police force.
The fulfilling outcome was not about discovering a simple solution.
Nor was it about erasing years of systemic issues.
It was about discovering a method to connect.
To humanize each other.
To commence a conversation that was essential.
It was about transforming a moment of fear and uncertainty into an opportunity for growth and understanding.
Officer Davies became an unforeseen ally.
He continued to participate in community forums.
He advocated for more training on implicit bias and de-escalation techniques.
He even initiated a youth outreach program.
Organizing events that brought children and police officers together in constructive environments.
My sister and I remained involved as well.
We didn’t instantaneously become activists.
But we discovered our voices.
We shared our story with other community groups.
Hoping to inspire similar discussions.
And Zavi?
He’s still a cheerful, energetic child.
Unaware of the intricate layers of the day he fell asleep in a police officer’s arms.
But as he matures, we will tell him about it.
We’ll tell him about Officer Davies’ kindness.
And we’ll tell him about the whispers.
About the conversations that ensued.
We’ll teach him to be cognizant of the world around him, encompassing both its beauty and its biases.
And to always champion what is right.
The life lesson here is that even amidst moments of fear and uncertainty, an opportunity for connection and change exists.
It’s not about disregarding the challenging realities.
But about confronting them directly, with honesty and a readiness to listen.
And sometimes, the most potent change commences with a single conversation, ignited by an unforeseen moment.
