Out of the mouths of babes

I was equal parts excited and dismayed.

I volunteered to speak at my church's career day and engaged with the youngest crowd I'd met thus far. Youth ranged in age from 5-15.

I did my typical spiel (what's a doctor do? what is the name of the doctor who works with your mind?) and then got to the question that I didn't think was going to land well because of their age.

"When you turn on the TV, what's the biggest problem you see?"

And, like clockwork, the first answer was always what I want them to say as a foray into my work.

"Racism!", I hear shouted out.

"Wow!" I exclaim. "How did you know what I study? Did anybody pay you to say that!?" I always joke.

But now, after serving on multiple panels with youth as young as pre-K, I know that this response is no longer a fluke.

The kids were able to cite Donald Trump and Trayvon Martin as salient examples, and shared with me how they talk to their families about these concerns.

I let them know that that's exactly what my program is for and handed them a flyer so that we could keep the conversation going.

But my God - it pains me so very much to hear the little ones connect with me. I truly wish I had to think hard about how to explain my point. But, alas, there went 20 little hands in the air to volunteer yet another example of how they realized racism was a problem.

The research on race is quite clear - when children are about 5, they can verbalize racial difference. 7, and they start assigning meaning to this difference. 12, and, well, if they're lucky, they're not shot dead from this difference.

I wonder what the symbolism of Trayvon means to them - what saying that name invokes in their tiny minds and bodies. I distinctly remember saying the name of Malice Green and Rodney King when I was growing up, but I don't think it ever occurred to me that children could be killed by state-sanctioned violence.

When pictures of Emmit Till resurfaced after Tamir Rice's murder, drawing attention to their eerily similar appearance, I thought about all the other stories of children that we had not heard about over time.

Indeed, when I walked into my cousin's art gallery and noticed this flier, I realized that we don't lack evidence, rather, a collective history of all of the murders committed by those who fear Blackness.

What would it be like for every generation to know that there has been a loss of young Black life at the hands of police? How can we continue to say names of those both now and in the past, invoking a living memory for posterity? How can we ensure that Trayvon is not simply said, but remembered, and, most importantly, not cited in vain?

I am thinking back to the youngest of the children and how they shook their head in agreement when I asked if they understood that some people don't think that they can be great because of their skin color. Sometimes, I wish I was the kind of doctor who could fix hearts - their little broken ones - or bones - those fractured because of racial violence - or brains - the ones fixated on superficial differences. Instead, I'm the doctor who tries to heal the spirits of those too young to even write their own name. How unfortunate that they can write Trayvon before traverse. Tragedy before trailblazing. Trial before triumph...When will healing be prioritized over heartache?