Fists, Knives, and Bullets

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Politics aside, we must appreciate life. For white conservatives, black radicals, and everyone else on the racialized and political spectrum, life is short. In the last two weeks, Charlie Kirk, Demartravion “Trey” Reed, and Mayumi Narita died.

Of the three names in the previous sentence, you may only know of one. Before the incident in Utah, I didn’t know anything about Charlie Kirk.

After he died, I learned of his similarities to another influencer who shares the same first initial but carries a different racial and gender identity. You know who I'm referencing, but in case I'm losing you in this introduction, Candace Owens.

Both pledged allegiance to the current administration and used social media platforms to raise awareness of right-wing politics.

Fists

Moments before I left work on the day Kirk died, I skimmed the headlines. Rushing to avoid missing a train, I absorbed the gist of the event, packed up, and left. Ten minutes later, I waited at a light rail station. 

The lights flashed, the horn warned, the train’s doors opened, and I found a seat. Two stops later, about fifty high school students stood on the platform. Passengers near me groaned in anticipation of the crowd.

Backpacks in tow, the students boarded and filled almost every inch of the train. I zoned out in the clutter, and lost concentration on the book in my hands.

Within ten minutes, many of the high schoolers left at the same stop. They took a few steps from the platform and started a massive fist fight. The conductor didn’t pause and continued along the light rail as usual.

Knives

It could’ve been worse, like the stabbing incidents that occurred on trains in Charlotte and Chicago this week.

And

The words, violence is omnipresent in America, crossed my mind as I crossed the crosswalk from the train to meet my daughter and wife. I vented about the crowded train and the fight en route to a local park. When we reached our destination, we met my sons for a running event, and the middle one asked me, “Did you know Charlie Kirk died?”

“Umm. Yes,” I answered as I recalled, reading the story before leaving work.

“Do you want to see the video of him getting shot?”

“No.”

“Come on, Dad, man up,” he said.

I smirked and replied, “Seeing another man get killed has nothing to do with being a man. I would rather protect my mental health.”

Like some men, I enjoy a great action flick filled with violent scenes from the opener to the final credits. The line between fiction and fact is easy for me to see. However, outside of movies, I avoid witnessing death.

After the rejection, my son turned and asked his sister. She agreed to watch the video and then immediately regretted it.

Bullets

A few minutes passed, and an event organizer announced the start of my youngest son’s race. He stood on the line with about a hundred other boys his age. The race marshal raised a small orange flag and then lowered it to his side.

Brown dust particles filled the warm California air as the runners chased two teenagers wearing yellow vests on mountain bikes around the 1.5-mile course. The young cross-country athletes covered gravel, sidewalks, and dirt trails. They formed a single line, and my son stayed with the leaders.

The boys stayed together around a pond until my son moved into second place.

I said to my daughter, “He will catch him.” My son didn’t hear me, but he did exactly what I thought he would do when the opening came. 

In the final 200 meters, he sprinted.

As my son finished first, tears formed in the corners of my eyes. The weight of the moment overwhelmed me. A juxtaposition hit me.

While I experienced the blessing of seeing my son win a race, someone else died. The blessing and the tragedy.

Kirk and I occupied opposite sides of the democratic divide. Like Owens, he represented an agenda that stood in opposition to my values. Regardless of differences in perspectives, I don’t wish death on anyone.

A bullet fired by another man took Kirk’s young life. Violence is never the ideal solution to political problems.

After my son’s victory, another father congratulated me and said, “Your son is a bullet!”

I smiled at the comment and said, “Thank you.”

He continued, “I mean, he is so little, but boy is he quick.”

 “Yes, he has some endurance.” I smiled, nodded, and replied as other boys finished the race.

Days later, while running with my son, the father’s compliment and our fast pace triggered anxieties and established confirmations. I hoped he would never have to try to outrun bullets In his lifetime. The comparison of my son’s speed to a bullet also confirmed the ideas in last week’s post about language, guns, and Americans’ obsession with violence.

Your takeaway

We must value life. At any moment, we could lose our lives. Whether we meet death by our hands or someone else’s, it will happen.

Kirk died from a bullet.

A Black college student, Demartravion “Trey” Reed, whose mysterious death is under investigation, leans toward suicide with a strange similarity to lynching crimes in America.

The Japanese swimmer Mayumi Narita died from cancer.

Questions for life

What will you do today to appreciate your time on earth? Who needs to hear you love them? How can you show up better in your private or professional life?

Make time and drop a response to one of the questions below.

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