Blinded by the Whites: Why Race Still Matters in 21st-Century America

Acknowledgments

xi On August 27, 2012, my fifteen-year-old nephew Tyrell Johnsondiedinacaraccidentonthefirstdayofschoolinhissophomore year. The driver of the car, sixteen-year-old Cody Rives, also died. A few weeks prior to his death, Ty visited Tallahassee, Florida, with his grandmother (my mother) to hang out with me and my two children, both of whom adored and idolized Ty. Little did I know this was going to be the last time I would see this extraordinary young man alive. A standoutstudentandleader,Tyrellwasmaturebeyondhisyears.Hehad come to visit, in fact, because he knew I was teaching summer school and wanted to sit in on my class to get a feel for what goes on in a college classroom. Though he was unfamiliar with most of the material I was teaching, he was visibly and intensely engaged for the entire hour and forty-five minutes of the class meeting. In addition to sitting through my class, we laced ’em up, went to the FSU gym, and played ball for an entire afternoon. As is always the case with the men in my family, there were lots of junk talking, laughing, and fade-away jump shots. We had a blast. Though a somewhat introverted teen, Ty was rather chatty that weekend, going on and on about obtaining his driving permit, an ROTC leadership camp he had recently attended, his older brother BJ,whomhe deeplyadmired,hischallengeswithhisdivorcedfatherandmother,both of whom struggle with substance abuse, and, more generally, about his future hopes and dreams. Later that weekend, we headed to the beach. ThenormallyclearwateratSt.GeorgeIsland–apublicbeachontheGulf of Mexico–was laden with seaweed. Rather than deter us from playing in the water, the seaweed served as weapons of mischief–it was more Acknowledgments xii Acknowledgments fun than I can adequately articulate. Everybody played to the point of exhaustion. It was a good day indeed. When Ty and his grandmother left that Monday morning after gracing us with their presence for four days, I remember thinking to myself as the car pulled off how wonderful it was to have been able to spend such quality time with my nephew. He was becoming a man right before my eyes and it was beautiful to watch. I had no doubt that Ty would go on to do great things, that his future was bright. Then the call came about ten days later. It was my mother. Out of breath. Frazzled. Scaring me because I feared for her health. But when she gathered herself and told me the news, I heard myself screaming , “No, Mom! This cannot be real! Tell me this is not real!” “He’s gone, David,” she responded, as if not truly believing the words coming out of her mouth: “My baby is gone.” Though it’s been several months now since his death, I think about Ty every day. I now see Ty’s visit for what it was–a gift by the universe; myopportunitytomakemorememorieswithmynephew;toassurehim that despite the familial obstacles he faced, he was going to be all right; that his uncle had his back. I even told him that he could stay with me the next summer–an offer, I later learned from my mother, that he was so excited about that one of the first things he did when he returned to North Carolina was to ask his father for permission to live with me the following summer. During his stay with me I told him about this book and promised to send him a copy when it was published. I also told him thathewouldbeintheacknowledgments,ashehadbeeninmyprevious books. He was floored. He didn’t realize that his name was in print–that he’d been acknowledged. He was even more floored when I reached up on my bookshelf and showed him his name in the acknowledgment section of my first book. I was touched by his humility and pride. When I spoke at Ty’s funeral, I reminded his loved ones that his was a well-lived life; that more than mourning a life cut short, we should celebratethefifteenwonderfulyearsthatwewereabletobeinhispresence . When my son and first child, Elijah, was born, Ty was five years old. I was so enamored of my precocious nephew, whose favorite things were books and hugs; I remember telling my mother that if my son turned out nearly as well as Ty I’d be a very happy father. Indeed, Ty was the role modelthatIchoseformysonor,perhapsmoreaccurately,therolemodel Acknowledgments xiii my son chose on his own...