Woebeit there’s a sore spot on my head to remind me that police officers have absolute authority on the streets, I had cause to pause and ponder what Black folks should tell our youngsters they should do if they’re unfortunately enough to have a close encounter of the arresting kind with a racist centurion. I speak, of course, of the July 11, 2002 Inglewood, California incident. Surely, you’ve seen the video “Bopped By a Cop,” that’s sure to go platinum among the mad as hell Hip Hop generation that’s vowing not to take no more?

Rumor in the ‘hood is that the video is hotter than Denzel Washington’s Academy Award winning DVD “Training Day.” Sixteen-year-old Donovan Jackson is no Bow Wow, but he definitely was treated like a dog. Even so, let’s not dwell on the sordid case, insofar as it was just another episode of “As The World Turns,” in the land of the free’s urban jungles.
Then again, I was mesmerized as they televised the video ad nauseam, before the mainstream media reported that the cop was actually restrained when he slugged the handcuffed teenager. The cop’s lawyer reasoned, “You cannot see what the subject is doing with his hands just prior to being hit in the face.” Hey, that surely explains why suspended (with pay) officer Jeremy Morse, “Took action which required that he be punched.”

But that’s not why I was scrutinizing the video any way. I just bought a new pair of trifocals; therefore I had no trouble seeing that the kid’s hands were handcuffed behind his back and he was laying face down on the hood of the squad car. What I really was looking for was a Black face near the space when the cops body slammed the kid.

I was curious if a brother stepped forward (as if to help), or if I could read his lips to say, “Before the fight starts, you’d better stop messing over that kid.” Need I confess that I was unable to discern such minute details? Thus, I’ll just have to wait for details that surely will be revealed in the spirit of truth that our police are distinguished for, after an internal investigation. Naturally, having a son nestling in the belly of TDCJ’s beast as we speak, I couldn’t help but ponder what brothers, living in 2002 America, tell a manchild who might be inclined to ask, “Hey dad, suppose that was me?”

First, however, I should offer a disclaimer before dwelling into the Twilight Zone of my logic, insofar as my behavior has always bordered on the Outer Limits of sanity: I’m not a very good father figure. That sore spot that I still feel on cloudy days, happens to be the result of a similar situation, circa 1970s.

Cutting to the chase, I interfered with cops stomping a sister in the ‘hood. For sure, the sister was no lady, although she worked the streets at night. However, I hung with my teenage mother’s younger sisters regularly as a baby, therefore when I say I love women, I ain’t just cracking but facting.
It’s still street lore how I became the first test case for those long flashlights that replaced cops’ billy clubs. I’m sure they improved the product after it bent when the cop bounced it off my nappy noggin and batteries flew everywhere. Even dazed I put up a better fight than Iron Mike gave Lennox Lewis.

I share this bit of history, because my actions came back to haunt me three decades later when my paroled son was arrested during a zero tolerance raid when he refused to run. “Damn son, why in the hell you didn’t you just run?” This frustrated father chastised his stupid son.
My humbled son looked me dead in the eye and asked, “Would you have run daddy?” So the question is, what can peace loving brothers tell their manchild when he asks what he should do when cops abuse and misuse him, to make sure bad news won’t beat him home? Hey brothers, don’t look at me.

You sure as hell don’t want an old African warrior to talk to your young warriors. Hell, even at age 68, I still have the same “death before dishonor,” I’m going down fighting mentality that made Ross Mortuary such a success back in the days the Da’ Big Nickel was called, “The Bloody Fifth.”
Fact is, I might just be ego-tripping (in my senile, old mind), but if I had been at the scene in California, Young Jackson and I would’ve shared the same police car or ambulance. Mayhaps, somebody at PABA, or SHAPE Center, or even church youth ministries have a word for Black fathers with warrior sons? Nevertheless, I dare not suggest to a brother, who values his life and the welfare of his family, that he should take on junkyard dog mean cops that get off to punching handcuffed teenagers.

On the other hand, my family won’t waste their time pursuing brutality charges if abusive cops take me out. Hell, they would be justified to fight for their life. Conversely, my logic has always been, and still is, once law enforcers abuse or breaks the law, they become just another outlaw.
A crook… a thug… a bully… and doesn’t deserve any more respect than they give citizens unfortunately enough to run into an abusive peace officer. I wonder if anybody knows where I’m coming from?