Never Enough

I know she was 16. That should be enough, but she’s a Black girl so it isn’t enough. It’s never enough.

She was always going to need more.

Apparently she was in a foster home. That’s all I know about her. And while that’s not a lot, and it’s enough to know she was hurting. Moving into a foster home at 16, for whatever reason, hurts. And whatever was done or said, no matter how vile or how mild, triggered that hurt.

I know she was angry. I know anger well. I know anger is always, always, a cover for fear and hurt. I’ve isolated anger a room and asked anger “how are you, really. I’m listening.” I know if you wait long enough, usually only a few minutes, sometimes only a few seconds, the hurt, the sadness, the fear and whatever else will emerge from the anger, in a ball of exploding, inconsolable tears.

I just know you have to wait until the anger betrays itself. You just have to wait.

And 10 seconds is not enough time to wait.

But you say, “what if you were that cop? What would you do? If your life was on the line? (His life was not on the line.) What would you want done if that was your daughter being attacked?”

And I tell you that I and almost everyone else you know who’s worked in a school has been “that cop.” I’ve jumped in fights with boys twice my size and girls…