A Letter to Trayvon
For Trayvon, for every Black boy who deserved to see 30
never met you, but you forever altered my life.
We loved the same candy. We both loved football. And when I look at you, I see me.
I think about you more times than I can count. If I have a son, the mother of my child is just going to have to get over the fact that his name will be Trayvon.
I never thought he would get away with it.
I watched every moment of the trial. I watched as your mother rallied our people to march in your honor. I watched as your name was slandered, misrepresented, and defamed. They tried to say you were everything but a child walking home at night—a casualty of white supremacy.
I get it now. Punishing your murderer would have upset their system.
But in that moment? My world was shook to its core.
Watching your murderer walk free after hours of courtroom breakdowns—after seeing exactly how you were murdered—and then a jury calling it justified?
I will never forget that feeling.
We all cried, Trayvon. We all cried.
You Turned 30 Yesterday.
A lot has changed.
A lot has not.
I wish I could tell you that kids like us are safer now. But Stand Your Ground is still law in Florida. We are still marching, still grieving, still burying brothers and sisters lost to white supremacy.
Your mom is still beautiful and strong—but I feel like you already know that.
I wish we lived in a world where, on one of my spring break trips to Florida, we could have crossed paths. Maybe just existed in the same space.
But that’s not the world we got.
Instead, we live in a world where your death radicalized me forever. Where all I want to do with my life is make sure Black boys like us don’t suffer your fate.
I promise you will always live through me. For as long as I am on this planet.
Until our heavenly meeting,
Loc
