Juan would be finishing up his shift at Davanni’s. His second job. He was a line judge for soccer over the summer. A fellow cross-country runner told him that Davanni’s hired 14-year-old’s. His cross-country coach introduced him to the hiring manager.
I gave him a sideways look. “Who else are you going with? Who are you going to meet up with? I’ll need more information.”
“Just us,” he said.
I gave Juan the usual response. “I’ll have to check with his parents.”
We were driving home from Boy Scouts. Juan had hoped to have his final three merit badges checked off. (I was, too. If he’s in scouts, I’m in scouts.) He’s aiming to get his Eagle Scout by the end of this year.
Turning on Penn Avenue from 50th Street, I asked him. “What would you do if there was a fight in the food court?”
He dodged, displaying a typical defensive teenage move. “Ryan and I won’t be in the food court.”
I persisted. “Still, what if you were and a fight broke out?”
Juan described some superhero ninja moves he’d make leaping over railings, running faster than the speed of light. Then he paused, “Ryan isn’t as fast as me, though.”
I didn’t tell him that Ryan was white and didn’t need to be as fast as him.
Instead, I said, “You’re Hispanic. If you’re running from a fight, police could think you were a part of it. If the police ever stop you, you stop. You don’t argue, you lay down, and when you can, you call your moms.”
I went on to tell him that there were at least 10 teens arrested at the Mall of America the day before. All were juveniles, ranging in age from 12 to 15.
Juan is 14.
He doesn’t have any fear of the police. He shouldn’t. I’m a volunteer Police Reserve Officer, Jody is currently going through orientation to be a Police Reserve, and he’s never been in trouble.
After his eight grade school year, he’s planning on becoming a police explorer.
Juan has no thought of being concerned. He’s an A/B student and active in three sports. All of his interactions with police have been positive.
Still, when there’s a melee involving 200 juveniles, he’s just another Hispanic. I thought of him getting thrown to the ground, kneed in the back, his arm twisted behind him.
I repeated, “If you’re ever told to stop, you stop, you don’t argue, you lay down, and when you can, you call your moms.”
I left him with these words, “What the police see is a Hispanic running away.”