taezee
Well-known member
how many rap songs can you name saying how cool and how gilamorous the drug dealer is would you agree with me about 80%? praising how tough and honorable these "playas" are?
heres a reality check this is what happens in the streets for real not in an imaginery setting made up in some sound proof studio this happened in new york yesterday.. an eight year old kid was shot and killed while coming home from school in a crossfire between rival drug gangsters.. a note writen by his mother
A Note to my Son's Killers
I am awake crying and mourning for my 8 year-old boy that you took from me. It may not mean anything to you. But to my husband and I you took our oldest boy. From my two younger children you took their older brother, their guidance. From my family you took a smart, happy, funny child that was so full of life, He was a good kid. He was very thoughtful and sweet, If you knew him you would probably think so.
It's endless possibilities to what Daesean could have been. He could have been the next Michael Jordan, Muhammad Ali, the next great singer or movie star, the next inventor, or maybe even President or maybe not famous at all. Maybe he would have chosen to become a doctor or just someone who works an ordinary job. He may have had children and a wife one day. But we will never get the chance to find out. Daesean may not have meant anything to you. But to my family and I he meant everything. I will never see his smiling face or hear him say I love you mommy again. I hope that when you lay down to sleep at night you think about my Daesean. Think about the life you took from my family and I. Was it really worth it? He was a child. He didn't do anything to deserve what came to him. If you have children think about the love and the hopes and dreams you have for your children and then think of what you so senselessly took from me.
Kimberly Hill folded this note of perfect grace once and then again and then again. The thrice-folded sheet was tucked in her palm when she emerged from her building yesterday morning. She also held a 2-by-3-inch photo of Daesean, which she showed a reporter.
"He wanted to be a real life superhero," Hill said. "He wanted to go into the Army and then be a police officer and then be a fireman."
Hill said nothing about the notebook paper that remained in her palm as she started up Hendrix St. just as she had with Daesean and her two younger children every school day. Terrence and Kaliyah were still in bed, having finally fallen asleep.
"They know he got shot," Hill said. "They saw it. They were there, but they really don't understand."
Hill continued past a remnant of crime scene tape the same yellow as the ribbons set out by the families of soldiers in Iraq. She works the 1 p.m. to 7 p.m. shift at a Manhattan medical office and got home too late to do much more than join the kids in a bedtime prayer and tuck them in. The walk to school was always their special time.
"That's when we do our talking," Hill said. "I try to teach the little lessons about life, about not being a follower, about being yourself."
The sky yesterday morning was leaden gray. The trees along Warwick St. were bare of leaves, but birds chirped from the branches with jarring cheer.
"I just have to talk to the teachers and gather up his belongings," Hill said.
Four youngsters with backpacks walked up ahead. She had joked with Daesean on Monday about being "lopsided" because he slung his on one shoulder.
"We always had a fun walk to school," she now said.
Near the entrance to Public School 158 on Monday, Daesean had at first ducked his mother's goodbye kiss. He had been afraid his friends would see.
"I said, 'We're around the corner, you got to give me a kiss,'" Hill remembered.
Daesean had consented.
"I said, 'Bye, DaeDae. I love you. Be good,'" Hill recalled. "He said, "I love you, too." And he walked off."
At 8:30 a.m. yesterday, Hill arrived at this same corner. She still had the folded paper in her hand and a reporter asked if it was a letter.
"I stayed up last night writing my thoughts," she said.
Hill gave the Note to my Son's Killers to the reporter and went up the eight concrete steps into the school where her son was known as a remarkably well-behaved boy who loved math and reading. She came out an hour later saying she had met with the principal and her son's teachers.
"We prayed and we talked about Daesean," Hill said.
They told her Daesean was excited on Monday because the next day was report card day and he knew he had done well.
"They were saying he was a smart kid and had the highest grades in his class," Hill said.
Her hands tucked up in the sleeves of her black parka, Hill started home past the school flagpole. The Stars and Stripes should have been flying at half staff, for this Brooklyn youngster who did his homework and got top grades was already the truest of superheroes.
heres a reality check this is what happens in the streets for real not in an imaginery setting made up in some sound proof studio this happened in new york yesterday.. an eight year old kid was shot and killed while coming home from school in a crossfire between rival drug gangsters.. a note writen by his mother
A Note to my Son's Killers
I am awake crying and mourning for my 8 year-old boy that you took from me. It may not mean anything to you. But to my husband and I you took our oldest boy. From my two younger children you took their older brother, their guidance. From my family you took a smart, happy, funny child that was so full of life, He was a good kid. He was very thoughtful and sweet, If you knew him you would probably think so.
It's endless possibilities to what Daesean could have been. He could have been the next Michael Jordan, Muhammad Ali, the next great singer or movie star, the next inventor, or maybe even President or maybe not famous at all. Maybe he would have chosen to become a doctor or just someone who works an ordinary job. He may have had children and a wife one day. But we will never get the chance to find out. Daesean may not have meant anything to you. But to my family and I he meant everything. I will never see his smiling face or hear him say I love you mommy again. I hope that when you lay down to sleep at night you think about my Daesean. Think about the life you took from my family and I. Was it really worth it? He was a child. He didn't do anything to deserve what came to him. If you have children think about the love and the hopes and dreams you have for your children and then think of what you so senselessly took from me.
Kimberly Hill folded this note of perfect grace once and then again and then again. The thrice-folded sheet was tucked in her palm when she emerged from her building yesterday morning. She also held a 2-by-3-inch photo of Daesean, which she showed a reporter.
"He wanted to be a real life superhero," Hill said. "He wanted to go into the Army and then be a police officer and then be a fireman."
Hill said nothing about the notebook paper that remained in her palm as she started up Hendrix St. just as she had with Daesean and her two younger children every school day. Terrence and Kaliyah were still in bed, having finally fallen asleep.
"They know he got shot," Hill said. "They saw it. They were there, but they really don't understand."
Hill continued past a remnant of crime scene tape the same yellow as the ribbons set out by the families of soldiers in Iraq. She works the 1 p.m. to 7 p.m. shift at a Manhattan medical office and got home too late to do much more than join the kids in a bedtime prayer and tuck them in. The walk to school was always their special time.
"That's when we do our talking," Hill said. "I try to teach the little lessons about life, about not being a follower, about being yourself."
The sky yesterday morning was leaden gray. The trees along Warwick St. were bare of leaves, but birds chirped from the branches with jarring cheer.
"I just have to talk to the teachers and gather up his belongings," Hill said.
Four youngsters with backpacks walked up ahead. She had joked with Daesean on Monday about being "lopsided" because he slung his on one shoulder.
"We always had a fun walk to school," she now said.
Near the entrance to Public School 158 on Monday, Daesean had at first ducked his mother's goodbye kiss. He had been afraid his friends would see.
"I said, 'We're around the corner, you got to give me a kiss,'" Hill remembered.
Daesean had consented.
"I said, 'Bye, DaeDae. I love you. Be good,'" Hill recalled. "He said, "I love you, too." And he walked off."
At 8:30 a.m. yesterday, Hill arrived at this same corner. She still had the folded paper in her hand and a reporter asked if it was a letter.
"I stayed up last night writing my thoughts," she said.
Hill gave the Note to my Son's Killers to the reporter and went up the eight concrete steps into the school where her son was known as a remarkably well-behaved boy who loved math and reading. She came out an hour later saying she had met with the principal and her son's teachers.
"We prayed and we talked about Daesean," Hill said.
They told her Daesean was excited on Monday because the next day was report card day and he knew he had done well.
"They were saying he was a smart kid and had the highest grades in his class," Hill said.
Her hands tucked up in the sleeves of her black parka, Hill started home past the school flagpole. The Stars and Stripes should have been flying at half staff, for this Brooklyn youngster who did his homework and got top grades was already the truest of superheroes.
