Don't You Know Who I Am?
Vol 4 Issue 6
In that split second, before she was attacked by a barrage of bullets like bees rushing to one flower out of a garden of many, I only dread to think that’s what Yetunde Price, eldest sister of tennis superstars Venus and Serena Williams, may have said or at least thought. You see, there is a sad but true price we pay for “being somebody.” However, to those hot pieces of lead coming out of the barrel of a gun, we are nobody at all. We are just a final resting place for them, as they remain unaware of what irreversible damage they have done.
Yetunde Price was maliciously gunned down in the early morning hours of September 14, as she sat in the passenger seat of a car outside a home, known for it’s gang and drug activity, not far from where she grew up in Compton, California.
Now, a couple of things I know for sure are that (1) I’m black and that will never change, (2) I’m paying taxes this year, and (3) I know for a fact that someone else was shot, stabbed, beaten to death, or whatever in Compton that night. Not to mention in also Detroit, Chi-Town, N.Y., and even in Chocolate City. That’s Washington D.C., for the 3 who didn’t know.
The only reason we don’t know who they are is because they don’t have a name. Allow me to explain, the only reason we knew and heard about Yetunde Price, is not because of her name, but the names of her sisters, Venus and Serena.
What about Rachel Jones, Earl Jones aka “man”, I bet before they died, they too said or thought, "Don’t you know who I am?” Because we are all “somebody” to “someone,” a mother, father, brother, sister, niece, nephew or even just a friend to kick it with, except to those hot pieces of metal, they simply call us home.
There’s no difference to Serena and Venus, they lost their “rock and foundation” in their sister. Ronique Jones lost a brother and Robert Jones lost a mother. My deepest sympathies go out to all who have lost someone in death as we can only look forward to a better time and place, where everybody knows your name.
Commentary by Michael Lorenzo
Copyright 2003 Michael Lorenzo
All rights reserved.
In that split second, before she was attacked by a barrage of bullets like bees rushing to one flower out of a garden of many, I only dread to think that’s what Yetunde Price, eldest sister of tennis superstars Venus and Serena Williams, may have said or at least thought. You see, there is a sad but true price we pay for “being somebody.” However, to those hot pieces of lead coming out of the barrel of a gun, we are nobody at all. We are just a final resting place for them, as they remain unaware of what irreversible damage they have done.
Yetunde Price was maliciously gunned down in the early morning hours of September 14, as she sat in the passenger seat of a car outside a home, known for it’s gang and drug activity, not far from where she grew up in Compton, California.
Now, a couple of things I know for sure are that (1) I’m black and that will never change, (2) I’m paying taxes this year, and (3) I know for a fact that someone else was shot, stabbed, beaten to death, or whatever in Compton that night. Not to mention in also Detroit, Chi-Town, N.Y., and even in Chocolate City. That’s Washington D.C., for the 3 who didn’t know.
The only reason we don’t know who they are is because they don’t have a name. Allow me to explain, the only reason we knew and heard about Yetunde Price, is not because of her name, but the names of her sisters, Venus and Serena.
What about Rachel Jones, Earl Jones aka “man”, I bet before they died, they too said or thought, "Don’t you know who I am?” Because we are all “somebody” to “someone,” a mother, father, brother, sister, niece, nephew or even just a friend to kick it with, except to those hot pieces of metal, they simply call us home.
There’s no difference to Serena and Venus, they lost their “rock and foundation” in their sister. Ronique Jones lost a brother and Robert Jones lost a mother. My deepest sympathies go out to all who have lost someone in death as we can only look forward to a better time and place, where everybody knows your name.
Commentary by Michael Lorenzo
Copyright 2003 Michael Lorenzo
All rights reserved.