(12/13/14) Racial Reckonings ... Over and Over Again

By Suzanne Sunshower © 2025. All Rights Reserved by Author.

Dear Readers,

The past few weeks have been unusually stressful for me. In addition to managing the ongoing undercurrent of stress associated with the destruction caused by the cheesy chumps in D.C., I’ve also been dealing with new bullshit that has created flashbacks, nightmares and PTSD. And because it all ties in with the subjects I normally touch upon in PUSH!, I will go ahead and share what’s been happening.

Intro: At first, I wasn’t even sure I’d go to the local library talk on Emmet Till, since I’m already so triggered by recent racial events. But then I realized that writing this will trigger me even more, so I decided I’d go to the presentation and begin writing this installment while I’m there. I guess, in the hopes that the two might cancel each other out – or at least flatten out the horror of it all. (Turns out, that’s not true. I’m finally finishing this over 2 weeks later because I’ve been so re-traumatized...)

As of this writing: I am on sudden unpaid leave from my job while waiting for a courthouse in another state to respond to my request for “disposition” information on a case from 1982, to satisfy my employer. The court has made clear they do not keep records over 25 years, and I have passed this on to my employer, yet it has not been explained if or when I will be getting my held paycheck or my job back.

A few weeks ago: I was after-dinner shopping at Meijers (a large retailer like Walmart) when I saw a pre-verbal kid of maybe 2 ½ to 3 years old running in and out of aisles where his mother was not, and so when he ran into mine, I murmured urgently to him, “Find mommy! Find mommy...!” Then I followed him (as non-creepily as possible) into the next aisle, where I saw his mom (a young white woman) on her phone next to the beer. She was absorbed in her phone and didn’t acknowledge him; but he buzzed around her, so I considered them reunited. I quickly moved on but very soon later, I saw the mom actively playing hide and seek with him – this time, I actually saw her duck away from the boy and hide from him.

After self-checking out, I decided to go back and look for some pills in the pharmacy section on the other side of the store. Not sure how to get out of the self-checkout niche, I headed to an ‘out’ that would fit myself and my cart... and damned if this didn’t happen to lead into the aisle where the wayward mom was (and was still without) her son. Now, however, the boy was throwing his toys over the endcap behind her checkout – and running between my area and his mom’s, still without interference or direction from her. His mom was on her phone while chatting with the cashier.

I waited for the boy to finish surfing into my area for his toy and for him to get back into his mom’s aisle, before I yelled, “Excuse me! Excuse me!” while barreling through with my cart. I could see where the small child was in front of the cart and maneuvered away from him, although I expected the mom to grab him or at least direct him out of my way – but she did not. In fact, she didn’t even look over until I had already gone through.

Her response to my barging in and out of their world was to say, “How rude! How rude!” Which I largely ignored, until I finally called over my shoulder, “And you’re an idiot,” at her, after I was well past.

I wasn’t over in the pill section long before a female worker came over and demanded, “You have to leave – now!” It was after 8 pm and no one else was around, so I thought maybe she meant the section was closed or off limits. She repeated her insistence that I leave, and added that she meant the store, insisting: “You ran over a small child with your cart!”

Stunned, I said sharply, “No I did not! I could see where he was, I didn’t touch him!” But she insisted again, quite definitively, that I had. Adding, “The mother said so...!” Which clearly irked me, so the messenger boosted that with, “Oh uh, and a store worker saw it, too... two of them,” she finished, satisfied she was right.

I understood what was up: the mother who couldn’t be bothered to pay attention to her kid had said something against me after I called her an idiot – although the child never cried (because I never touched him) when I pushed through their aisle, and the mother had only said “how rude, how rude” and did not claim an offense at that time.

But I was tired and it was late, and I was disgusted that this worker kept insisting wrongly about my own actions (my god, I work with kids!), so I told her that I would gladly leave. It didn’t occur to me to demand she look at the store cameras, as someone later suggested to me. I didn’t want to spend more money at that store.

On my way back to the entrance, I saw the wayward mom still at the checkout, but now laughing. Remember, this is someone whose child was allegedly “run over” by my cart! (Yet, she was still not paying attention to her small “run over” child, nor did she finally have him by the hand.) She was looking absolutely delighted with herself, calling out at me accusingly, “You’re a “Karen”, that’s what you are!” and giggling.

Calling me a “Karen” was a bizarre twist, but my understanding of her delight was clear. Especially when she bragged, “You’re lucky – I could’ve had you arrested...!”

And that was the capper! She was an inattentive trashy white mom; I was a Black, professionally dressed senior citizen who’d just attended a dinner conference. Yet, all she had to do was make an invalid declaration and it held – what power she must have finally felt in her life! She saw the response and attention her lie had gotten her, and she was delighting in the possibility that all she had to do was claim something against me, no matter how improbable, for people to act on it! And she knew that would include the local cops.... And she was probably right.

My personal experience with cops (State Police) in that town was: I was the one who called 911 for help, yet I was the one who was interrogated – not the crazy gas station attendant who still owed me $10 in gas. Interviewing us separately, whatever the clerk said to the cop, the cop believed and questioned me about – even though I was the one who had called for help, and it was clear I’d not been able to pump my gas, as the pump was still on $0.00. The cop I called for help kept asking me if I were on drugs or had been drinking, etc... Rather than just making sure I got the gas I’d paid for!

Later, I found out that the same attendant had worked at and been fired from a station near my home, and the manager there told me, “We don’t even speak her name, here – she’s a crazy liar and a thief!”

So yeah, the idiot gal with the kid could probably tell a local white cop (again, in that town it’s the State Police) whatever lie she wanted, and her word would be taken over mine. Pretty sad. But true.

Back to the future: The day after the trashy mom’s bizarre accusation, I got the email suspension saying there was a “hit” from 1982 on my background check and all my scheduled school sub jobs were cancelled. I was pretty sure what it was about, because I was asked about something in my background check two years ago by the Superintendent of schools in a nearby county. She called me directly and it was handled between us; and she was very understanding. Her inquiry was the first I had heard about the incident in forty years. In decades of doing community service work with kids & families, and working in public schools, I had been background checked more than 10 times – but no one had ever mentioned 1982 to me. Nor was it mentioned, after being checked and employed by the State of Michigan (both in the 1990s & 2020s) and for my two jobs with the Federal government. Not in forty years!

The difference this time was, a school superintendent of a different county had gotten my background results and did not call me directly for the explanation of arrest, instead she called my employer (who is an intermediary hirer for the State) to ask, and that’s when I got pulled out of working in schools until I could explain...

The 1982 incident was something done to me while I was a 20-year-old college student in New York, living with other (white) students with a frat mascot dog named Kurt. My walks with Kurt were usually joyful, he was even welcome with me in the nearby butcher shop! I was walking Kurt when two cops jumped out of their car to ask me why I was in that neighborhood. I told them I lived there and only had a college ID because I didn’t drive, which I gave to the more aggressive cop. He said he didn’t believe me because “niggers” didn’t live in that neighborhood. Kurt, sensing danger, tried to protect me but the aggressive cop stomped the dog... and so I bit the cop. But it didn’t end there. After biting the cop, I ended up with a concussion and over 30 contusions (I was beaten; my head slammed against a wall), and then arrested for being “disorderly” – so they could justify bringing me in.

Kurt escaped and arrived home without me, where my roommates then fretted for hours about where I could be.

The original Superintendent who asked me directly about 1982 understood what I was saying, even though I didn’t use the “N word” with her, all I said was I was accused of being in the wrong neighborhood by cops who harassed me while walking my dog. She was concerned that if I called the Court, which I offered to do, that it would trigger bad memories. But I insisted on calling, saying, “I haven’t thought about those cops in a long time...” Which was true, aside from a letter to the editor I wrote back in 1991-ish (perhaps around the time of the Rodney King incident). So I did call, and that’s when I was told they didn’t keep records over 25 years...

But it turned out the Superintendent was right, just thinking about the racist incident did trigger bad feelings for me. Thankfully, though, I didn’t need to suffer long because she accepted my explanation, and her inquiry was cleared up between us quickly. After reviewing resumes and references I personally dropped off for her, she believed I was committed to serving children and families. Before I got home from the drop, I had a phone message from her: “You’re free to go into our schools as soon as you please...”

However, this time is different. When I tried to expand my substitute teaching reach to another county, I was asked for “official proof” of the disposition of the 1982 case.

Telling the employer what happened to me, and that I went to court and the cops didn’t even show up to support their saying I’d given them reason to stop me while walking – wasn’t good enough. I told my employer that I didn’t honestly remember what the disposition of the case was, because it was something I always remembered as having been done to me – it was not something that I did. So, I’d never thought of it as a conviction (even if it was ‘only’ for “Disorderly Conduct”, which is a charge I remember from the incident); yet a “conviction” was what they were thinking it was and wanted me to ‘confess’ to. Remember, no one (not the State or Feds, or any child protection agency I’ve worked for) has ever mentioned 1982 to me before, although my background’s been checked for every previous job (and even some volunteer work).

I was told that something official about the ‘case’ would be better than nothing... So, I ordered an official paper from the Court saying there is no official record... and I’m waiting for that to arrive. But now, I am experiencing severe trauma and flashbacks.

I remember that nice college girl out for a walk with the house dog who was brought home by housemates the next day, beat up and bruised because some white asshole thought I shouldn’t be walking in my own neighborhood. It’s not just pressure or stress, the feeling is indescribable. And it also doesn’t help that these thoughts lead to hatred...

For no good reason.

Cycling again for no good reason.

I didn’t need this from my job, to picture again how the cop who said “nigger” rolled down his window while I was in the back of the cruiser and thrust out his arm and let my college ID blow away with the wind – so he could pretend I wasn’t me.

God knows I’ve PUSHED enough for this country already - how about YOU?