Source: Bishop T.D. Jakes / The Huffington Post
“He killed my son.”
Words no father should ever utter, and yet that these words hang in the atmosphere over Sanford, Fla., like humidity on a dank summer’s eve; like an echo unanswered, demanding recompense.
Tracey Martin’s outcry at the killing of his 17-year-old son, Trayvon, armed only with a bag of Skittles and a bottle of Arizona Tea — cut down in the prime of life while walking to a friend’s house — has set off a firestorm of protests.
I join my voice to the growing list of “The Outraged.”
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