This Holiest of Days

And on the holiest of Christian days, I'm still full of unreconcilable rage. This being the day that celebrates Jesus rising from the dead to bring salvation to the world, which I grew up believing in. As my wife Amy and I hiked together Easter morning with our dog Jenny in the lead, I found joy in their company and nature. 

We had just returned from a wonderful family camping vacation near Joshua Tree National Park. Amy and I were also in the middle of our latest meditations on getting unstuck. It was then on our hike when I shared some of what had been weighing heavily on my heart -- and the fact that all I could think about was George Floyd, Eugene Goodman and my dad.

And me. 

We're all fathers. Fathers with daughters. Fathers who, no matter the mistakes we've made in life, or the obstacles we've overcome, want nothing more than the best for our daughters (and sons), for them to be safe and well. But that's where most of the similarities end. Eugene Goodman is a police officer. My dad was a police officer. I am the son of a police officer. George Floyd was killed by a police officer. Eugene Goodman is black. George Floyd was black. I am white. My dad was white. 

When I was a sophomore in high school, my mom and dad were leaving my high school's varsity football game (I played junior varsity) and witnessed a teenager harassing one of the school administrators. Later they would find out he was high on PCP, but in that moment, my dad tried to deescalate the situation. The teenager had a knife, cut my dad's arm and then stuck it deep into my dad's upper thigh. 

Anyone in law enforcement or with family in law enforcement knows that when an officer is in distress, every available officer gets there to help. Which is what happened when my dad was stabbed. They arrested the teenager and my dad eventually recovered. 

That teenager was Latino. And while I wouldn't call my dad an anti-racist -- he certainly wasn't without prejudice -- he did check in on the kid who stabbed him. That same teenager was in and out of prison until his early 20's, and the last time he went into prison, he was stabbed and killed by another inmate. According to my mom, prior to young man's death, my dad tried to get him drug rehabilitation help and more. I never knew that back then, not until years later, just like I didn't know really how much my dad led with empathy as a police officer. How the bad guys and girls, as well as the good guys and girls, really liked my dad. Respected him as a police officer. A 32-year veteran of the force who told me he only had to pull his gun one time during his tenure, and he never fired it while on duty. 

My dad and mom both passed away in 2012. Growing up, I was the most liberal in our family compared to my sister and three step-sisters. Only just slightly left-center back then, but still the most liberal. As a retired police officer, I'm not exactly sure how my dad would've responded to the unnecessary deaths of unarmed young black men and women by police officers in the past few years. How he would've responded to the social protests and #BlackLivesMatter and the violence that erupted across cities in 2020 after George Floyd was killed. 

I do remember talking with him about the beating of Rodney King and the riots that followed. He was quite vocal about the destruction the riots caused, the people and good officers put in harm's way, and he thankfully agreed that the excessive force used against Rodney King was egregious. And he wasn't surprised when the officers were acquitted either. I don't remember whether or not he agreed with that verdict, or whether he empathized with the why of the riots. I hope it was the latter.

However, one thing I will never forget, is the Capitol Insurrection on January 6, 2021. I will never forget the why and the lie of it. How my heart breaks every time I think about how the hate-power surged and the continuing lack of accountability since (even with the hundreds arrested). I will never forget those who participated in it and those who supported it onsite and from afar. The white hate and the Confederate flags and the racial slurs and the noose and the police officer being beaten with a flagpole flying the America flag. Our violent American history again retching itself upon us. The perpetual safety problem for so many. 

I will also never forget one black police officer -- Eugene Goodman -- who faced 400 years of angry white supremacy and power patriarchy to protect those who worked in the Capitol. I really want to believe my dad would've stood with Officer Goodman and the other officers protecting the Capitol.

Which brings me full circle back to this Easter and my unreconcilable rage since January 6. We've been listening to the audio book Four Hundred Souls: A Community History of African America 1619-2019, and the painful truth of our violent racist history that's been kept from us since the founding of this country continues to fuel my rage. A rage that seeps into our family conversational ether. A rage our daughters struggle to understand why, after all the love and empathy and Kidpower my wife and I practice at home, I despise those who've perpetuated racist hate for generations, however subtle or blatant. Why I hold onto holding those accountable who have denied and continue to deny women and people of color the same inalienable rights that white men have guaranteed themselves for hundreds of years. 

When I think about the Jesus in my childhood heart, He was anti-racist. He led with eyes of love and empathy regardless of who you were. He worked hard to end inequities for all people; everlasting love is possible through Him. My God, Jesus was literally a person of color, but that same salvation ideal He brought to the world has been withheld from so many generations of women and all people of color by my own white legacy. That is what I cannot reconcile -- for our daughters, our communities, our nation. 

Even hearing Martin Luther King Jr.'s well-versed words, "Darkness cannot drive out darkness; only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate; only love can do that," cannot console me today, this holiest of days. And yet I know my rage cannot be sustained; my rage cannot make a difference; my rage will not quell the darkness. 

So, please don't send your nice thoughts or prayers. Just know that we are all simultaneously part of the problem and the solution in America. I implore you to be part of the solution.