University

Uncle B drives me and my stuff to university.

He tells me how proud he is, asks what I'm excited about and what I'm nervous about.

I don't tell him I'm excited and nervous about meeting guys, having sex, maybe a relationship.

I tell him I'm excited to have my freedom.

We're five minutes from our destination according to his GPS, and we hear sirens and see flashing lights.

It's the police behind us.

My uncle pulls over, I think, at first, to let them pass, but I soon realize that they are pulling us over.

They ask my uncle if this is his car, to see his license, where are we going.

They tell him it's a very nice car, ask him what he does for a living.

My usually polite uncle is abrupt with the police, asks them what business they have stopping him.

Was he speeding? Was there a problem with one of his lights? Did he fit the description of a suspect they're looking for? The police say we can be on our way and to have a nice day.

They get back in their car and drive away.

"Are you okay?" I ask.

Uncle B begins: "There's always something.

No matter how hard you work.

No matter how well you do.

How successful or respectable.

There's always something that will remind you you shouldn't get too comfortable.

I always thought education and money was going to earn me respect, but a successful black man is a threat.

Pulling me over for driving a nice car.

This isn't what I wanted for your moving day but this is what it's like to be black in this country or anywhere in the world.

They interrupt our joy.

Our history.

Our progress.

They know they can't stop us unless they kill us but they can't kill us all, so you're living your life and suddenly interrupted by white fear or suspicion.

They fear sharing anything.

Our success is a threat." I've never heard my uncle speak in these terms, of them and us .

I've never thought in these terms.

Until today.