Alone, in fear, I hid under the kitchen table in my mother’s Mosby Court project in Richmond, Virginia. It’s a memorable event that I’ll never forget.
I was 2-years-old sitting shirtless on the cold tile floor in a diaper. I don’t remember how I got there, but I was under the table because I was scared. There was no one insight, not my mother, nobody.
Then suddenly, I saw two police officers appear in the living room. They were snooping around looking for something or someone. Already petrified, I kept quiet and hoped they wouldn’t find me.
Watching the officers as they walked into the kitchen, the first officer passed by without noticing me. The second officer who was Black, however, looked under the chairless table and found me. “Hey buddy!” he may have said. With a pleasant smile, the White officer squatted and opened his arms. Although he was a stranger, for some reason, I trusted him. Without hesitation, I crawled to his arms.
He picked me up and held on to me. Both officers were smiling and talking to me – like adults do when they greet a baby. I had no idea what was being said, but I felt safe.
We all probably asked the same question: where is mommy? Their guess was as useless as my speech.
The next thing I remember was seeing my mother in a distraught mood. With a bandana wrapped around her head, she was either exhausted or drunk. The officer who held me was no longer my babysitter; he was an officer, interrogating my mother. There’s no doubt in my mind that he’d asked her “what she was doing?” and “why wasn’t she watching me?”
Whatever the officer was saying, my mother wasn’t too happy. At some point, she grabbed me from the officer. While my mother and the officer exchanged words, I played with my mother’s gold necklace. I was now fearless in my own little world. I couldn’t understand what the conversation was about. It really didn’t matter; I didn’t care.
But eventually my mother grew angry with the officers, and she raised her voice. It was then I became worried of my mother’s frustration. Just like a tight mother/son bond, I fed off my mother’s energy. But when she calmed down, I returned to the shiny chain around my mother’s neck. However, I was no longer the scared, lonely, little baby hiding under the kitchen table. From the officer’s arms to my mother’s arms, I had been held in a warm, safe place where fear wasn’t welcomed. It was the warmth comfort and protection that evicted my fear. As the wisdom of the wise tells us, “Love Drives Out Fear!”
Do you remember a moment in your life where love drove out fear?
I’d love to hear your story too.
Leave your story or that you want to tell me your story in the comments. One of my people will send it to me and we can start a conversation with the needed security in place because of my current residence. You will find that even with my limitations, I love conversation.