“Eat one’s heart out.”
Defying the social constraints and discrimination faced as an African-American growing up in the 1920s and '30s.
It’s a sunny windy day in Chicago, and I am hoping it’s close to the end of my shift. I work a full time job as a civil rights activist. I was the fourth black student to graduate from suburban Chicago's predominantly white Argo Community High School, and the first black student to make the school's "A" Honor Roll. It wasn’t easy raising my son with all the pressure put on my shoulders, but I managed to do so. I worked long hours for the Air Force as a clerk. I hate to say that I barely had time with my son. Being a single mother, I had to work most of my time, so I can put my son to school, pay his hospital bills, and give my son money so he could enjoy himself buying his penny candy at the corner store.
Last week my son’s uncle came here from Mississippi to visit us. My son loved his uncle since the day he came to visit. The day before his great uncle left, he planned to take Emmett’s cousin to Mississippi to visit his relatives. My son was upset and begged me all night to go with his uncle along with his cousin. I didn’t think they would convince since Emmett was only 14 years old. It frightened me to let my baby go miles away from me. He is my world. My everything. Only a real mother would know. I knew that my son deserved to go I’ve been working so much that my son understands my pain and he offers to be responsible for the house like the laundry, he cleans and who knew how to cook quite a bit! He is such a great joy in my life. I thought about the positive and let him to visit his other relatives and visit the town was born.
The day before my son left, I’d given him his father’s late signet ring which is engraved with the initials L.T. The next morning I woke up earlier urgent than before, I made breakfast. Constantly thinking about my son while we are eating before his uncle comes to get him. I talked to him about how to act, how to be clean, and all the things a mother would say like, “Brush your teeth every morning,” “Eat breakfast, wear your seatbelt” and so on. My son is very respectful, and today he is more lovable too. We drove to the station in Chicago and we both kissed goodbye. My heart felt nervous but happy for him. Only a mother would know. Four days later, UPDATE NEWS: *italic*at approximately 2:30 a.m. on August 28, 1955, Roy Bryant, Carolyn's husband, and his half brother J.W. Milam kidnapped Till from Moses Wright's home. They then beat the teenager brutally, dragged him to the bank of the Tallahatchie River, shot him in the head, tied him with barbed wire to a large metal fan and shoved his mutilated body into the water. Moses Wright reported Till's disappearance to the local authorities, and three days later, his corpse was pulled out of the river.
My heart fell to my feet. The room went silent when I received the news no mother would ever wish on their baby. It was so quiet, I could only feel and hear my heart pounding fast. I felt like my heart wasn’t beating anymore, even though it was the only thing I could hear clearly. I couldn’t feel my face or hands or feel the wrinkles in my face. I can hardly breath. My hands are numbing. I feel like it’s been the longest time since I’ve ever held my breath this long. My head is spinning rapidly. I felt like someone had cut open my stomach and yanked my son away from the womb. I couldn’t believe it. I was in so much pain. I felt like someone was eating my heart out. Now it hurts to know what it is like to lose someone you created. I wish I was never the mother that had to be told, “Sorry for you loss.” The worst of this, is that my son didn’t die peacefully. That is what kills me everytime. Since that day, my heart was never the same. That same day I began asking myself millions of questions. “Maybe I wasn’t good enough? I should have spend more time with him. I shouldn’t have yelled at him too much. I shouldn’t have him so much responsibility at home. I shouldn’t of let him go.” Only a mother would know. I am also extremely angry. The situation taking place in the 1920’s, It was common for African-americans to always be taken advantage of. Both murderers were charged and tried for murder, but an all white male jury acquitted them. Being an African American, it was hell for me, for my son, and for every black African American. Nothing was equal, their was no justice in my son’s terrifying murder. As for myself, being an african american mother and a civil right activist, I had made a decision for my son’s funeral. Unlike maybe most mothers, I wanted the world to see how breathtaking they left my son. Days before the funeral I said, “I said I want the world to see this because, there is no way I could tell this story and give them the visual picture of what my son looked like.” My son’s murder is noted as a pivotal catalyst to the next phase of the Civil Rights Movement.
