He was born a babe — as innocent as all such acorns of flesh and blood are — which spring forth and was lovingly cuddled, dutifully nurtured, and fiercely protected. There was mirth, there were squeals of childish laughter, and there were eyes opened wide in wonder, kept so by hope, and moistened, gently, by warm tears of humanity. And so, in his manhood, what curdled his blood? What transformed his eyes into a stern, a determined, and an icy gaze, America?
What deafened his ears to the desperate cries and pleadings for mercy? What kept his body rigid — one fed on opportunities denied to so many — atop a bent and unrelenting knee? A blessed appendage from the Creator of life used to smother a life — defenceless. Killers are not born, they are made. And so, who weaned him off the milk of human kindness? What poisonous tree of anger, of malice, and of hate was he then forced to eat from?
From whence the steady drip from mind and soul into a state of degeneration? Is he eternally lost, or can he be redeemed? Two lives were lost on that tragic day — not one. Floyd is dead and Chauvin incarcerated, perhaps for the rest of his life. Did anyone just hear wailing from heaven? Was it weeping for one or was it for both? Were all the guilty parties charged? Are they all to be brought before the bar of justice, or was Chauvin just another “fall guy”, America?
If, “Yes”, then for who or for what? Is the real criminal in this tragic affair still at large? Is the manhunt still on, or are Chauvin’s shackles meant to distract? In our rejoicing, let us take a moment of pause and let us look up and about us. Let us not relax just yet — not yet. Not until we are sure that justice is served completely. But, again, for the moment, Chauvin is gone. He was once a babe — a wee little one. What went wrong — so horribly, horribly wrong, America? God, help us.
