Originally posted to Facebook March 23, 2012

The story of Trayvon Martin that has been in the headlines the last few weeks has brought back one of the vivid memories of my youth.

It reminded me of the day I was almost shot by a Police officer in Berkeley, California.

Before I relate the story I should note that the circumstances of my near-shooting and the killing of Trayvon Martin are very, very different…and yet there is a thread of similarity, at least in terms of what I learned that day about the difference between perception and reality…and how not being aware of that difference can lead to disaster…

The year was 1979.  I was 16 at the time, about 8 months younger than Trayvon when it happened.  I had just experienced a growth spurt and was nearing 6 feet tall (another 2 inches to go before I reached my full 6’2″ that I’ve been since).   In addition to being a tall young man, I also at that moment, happened to be bald.   I was very active in the Theater department at my high school, and we were about to put on the play version of “The Wizard of Oz”.  I was playing the Wizard and one day a few weeks before, the teacher who was directing the play mentioned offhand that it might be cool to have the Wizard be bald. Eager young thespian that I was, I volunteered on the spot to shave my head for the role, thus the Telly Savalas-like appearance I was sporting. 

It was a grey spring day in Berkeley and I had gone over to my friend Ken’s house after school to hang out.   For some reason we ended up in his attic, looking for something when we came across a box of stuff that belonged to his older brother who was away at college.  Rummaging through it, we came across a cowboy hat and holster with a cap pistol in it.  I tried the hat on and we both immediately thought of Yul Brynner’s role in the movie Westworld.  

“Can I borrow these for a week?” I asked. “We have a cast party for the play this weekend and folks are going in costume.  I want to go as Yul Brynner”.  

“Sure”, said Ken “as long as you don’t mess them up…my brother would kill me”.  

“No problem”, I said

It was starting to get dark as I left Ken’s for the 15 block walk home.  The grey sky had also started sprinkling.   As I didn’t have a bag to put the stuff I was borrowing from Ken home in, I just left the belt and holster around my waist (with the cap pistol in it) and wore the cowboy hat.  I knew I probably looked a little funny, but it was just a short walk home.

I turned the corner from Ashby avenue onto College Avenue heading south.  A few doors down I noted in my peripheral vision that a police car had stopped a car length behind the car in front of him which was waiting at the red light.  I didn’t think anything of it then, or a moment later when the police officer got out of the car and walked around the rear of the car.  I actually thought he was running into the cafe which I was walking past,  for…well….a doughnut.  

Then the cop spoke to me:

“Excuse me sir, is that a real gun you are wearing?”

“Huh?” I thought…is he talking to me?

I looked down at where the cop was pointing with his left hand.  

Oh.

The cap pistol.

Sitting there in it’s holster on my right hip.  

Right next to my right hand. 

My immediate inclination at that moment was…to pull the toy gun out of the holster and hold it out to the officer to show him that, no, it wasn’t a real gun…it’s just a toy.

No, really.  I actually thought that…. For a second.

Then all of a sudden (and it really did hit me hard) the logic circuits in my brain kicked in hard and yelled “WAIT!”.   

What happened next probably meant the difference between my going on to live the wonderful life that I have….or my being one of those “Cop kills kid armed with toy pistol” stories that are are, unfortunately, common enough that they are a meme…

For the next few moments, it felt like the logic part of my brain was having this intense internal conversation with the regular part of my brain:

LOGIC:  ” Did you see how that cop was standing?”

REGULAR:  “Um, yeah, he was standing with his legs apart and pointing at my toy gun with his hand…”

LOGIC: “Yeah, but why was he standing that way….and what was in his other hand?

REGULAR: “Well, he kind of was in a stance…and in his other hand he…”

BOTH PARTS OF MY BRAIN: “…HAS HIS GUN OUT!!!!”

I walked through the last few moments in my minds eye:

The cop had come around the back of his car, unholstered his weapon, and was standing with one hand pointing at me and the other hand holding his pistol pointing at the ground.

I froze.

Finally, after a moment I said…

“N-NO Officer!  It’s just a TOY!  A cap pistol!” .

 I slowly moved both of my hands away from the toy holster to over my head.

The cop took a few steps closer, reached out and touched the handle of cap gun.  “Okay” he said….”You can’t always tell and…well, we just have to make sure… you never know…”  and he holstered his weapon, walked back around the car, got in and drove off.

“He…he had his gun out”,  I thought to myself, “If I had taken the cap pistol out to show him…he might have shot me!”

Now most folks who know me, then or now, would probably tell you that, size and race notwithstanding, I am about the least likely person to commit an act of violence against another person. I am pretty darned friendly and, for the most part, wouldn’t hurt a fly.   And that is (and was) the way I think of myself.  And to be honest, until that day, it never occurred to me that anybody else would…COULD think otherwise of me.

But clearly in this case, they would, could and did.

And, again, given the odd cowboy outfit and gun belt, I DIDN’T blame the cop for checking me out.  

And what I learned that day was…. it doesn’t always matter what is in your heart or head….others won’t know it until you have an opportunity to SHOW them what’s in your heart and head.

There were any number of situations in the years after that event where I was painfully aware that what people were seeing when they looked at me was not the INTERNAL me…but their interpretation of the EXTERNAL me.  In some cases what they saw was simply.. “Scary Big Black Man” (even though, I’m far more beige than black).  Sometimes I had the opportunity to dissuade them from that notion.  Other times I didn’t.  But from that day on, I’ve been aware of the possibility that what others might see of me from afar, can be very, very different from what I see of myself.  And in turn, that what I initially perceive of others may not be a true reflection of who THEY are either.

The same may be true for Trayvon Martin and George Zimmerman.  Neither of them got a chance to see who the other one really was.  Or maybe one of them did.

🙁