They say you cannot judge a man unless you've walked a mile in his shoes. Well, I would like to know what it's like to send my son out without having him come home and say he was followed around the store. I would like to drive to Arkansas and not have to explain to my child why there is a cross burning on the land next to the highway. I would like to not have to pretend that I am fine while I choke down the terror; I haven't driven that stretch since. While I would not like to trade who I am and my Black Joy for the absence of the Melanin Burden, I would like to walk even a half mile in those White people shoes. A vignette on hair, Mexico and the justice system.

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