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I'm a mess. I've been crying a lot a lot a lot. My cousin, spencer, is in jail. He's the first-born great grandkid on my dad's side. he's in big trouble. he shot a gun near a cop. no, not at him... people in my family know how to use guns ("it don't cost any money," says his grandma, my aunt sal), and he didn't shoot AT the cop... or else that cop would be dead and he would be in a lot more trouble. the kid he was with had a gun pointed at him and was saying if he didn't shoot the cop, then he'd shoot spencer. so spencer shot in the air. and now they are trying to put him away for 20-40 years.
T-W-E-N-T-Y to F-O-R-T-Y. Spencer is FIFTEEN years old. and my favorite kid in the world.
And, you all know that if the cop had felt threatened, at all, spencer would be dead. or at least missing some important parts of his knee. because you shoot first and ask questions later.
The police also beat the shit out of my uncle rick. He's spencer's grandpa, and he went to pick him up at (get this) Last Chance Party Store, before hearing about all this shit. The cops pulled him over right after he left the parking lot.
Uncle rick is a HUGE fat man. And he's been sick for a long time. seizures-sick. he didn't get out of the truck fast enough, so they pulled him out, threw him on the ground, yanked his arms behind his back (his arms don't GO behind his back, he's a fat man), cuffed him, and then kicked the kick out of him in the snow. And then left him there when spencer drove away in the truck because they said "get out or I'll blow your motherfucking head off!" to him. A KID! It's lucky uncle rick didn't DIE. And in hte papers they are referring to him as "the getaway driver."
there's so much i can't punch into the screen. so many feelings and so much history, and so much rage and shame and tears and heartache/break i can't begin to express it.
I have a bottle of wine. and the house is at least picked up... less cluttered. and i am going to shower off some grief and drink a bottle of wine. and cry some more.
T-W-E-N-T-Y to F-O-R-T-Y. Spencer is FIFTEEN years old. and my favorite kid in the world.
And, you all know that if the cop had felt threatened, at all, spencer would be dead. or at least missing some important parts of his knee. because you shoot first and ask questions later.
The police also beat the shit out of my uncle rick. He's spencer's grandpa, and he went to pick him up at (get this) Last Chance Party Store, before hearing about all this shit. The cops pulled him over right after he left the parking lot.
Uncle rick is a HUGE fat man. And he's been sick for a long time. seizures-sick. he didn't get out of the truck fast enough, so they pulled him out, threw him on the ground, yanked his arms behind his back (his arms don't GO behind his back, he's a fat man), cuffed him, and then kicked the kick out of him in the snow. And then left him there when spencer drove away in the truck because they said "get out or I'll blow your motherfucking head off!" to him. A KID! It's lucky uncle rick didn't DIE. And in hte papers they are referring to him as "the getaway driver."
there's so much i can't punch into the screen. so many feelings and so much history, and so much rage and shame and tears and heartache/break i can't begin to express it.
I have a bottle of wine. and the house is at least picked up... less cluttered. and i am going to shower off some grief and drink a bottle of wine. and cry some more.
