What happened to my baby? He changed. He is 17, and I don’t know who he is.
I want my precious son back. I peek at his phone and see the gun in his hand. Oh my God, whom has he gotten involved with? I’ve told him to stay away from those boys. I look at the woman’s jewelry in one of the pictures. Could my baby be one of the thieves that I hear about in the news? I ask him about it, and he denies everything. I look on the phone, and see the drugs. I hope he stops before he is in too deep. Please, Trayvon, stop, don’t become a dealer or, worse, an addict.
People would see my son as a thug, but they don’t know the real Trayvon. He was such a beautiful child, a true delight when he was younger. I don’t know where the anger came from. I know he used racist language, but he certainly didn’t learn that from me. He began skipping school, and I have been there talking to them about Trayvon. He is such a smart kid. He should be getting much better grades than he is. I can’t even talk to Trayvon anymore. I want my baby back.
I’ve told him nothing good ever happens after dark. I’ve told him I don’t like his friends, and why doesn’t he hang out with that nice boy down the street? I’ve confronted him so many times, and he ignores me. I love my boy, and want him back. Maybe once these rough teen years are over with. If anything happens to him, I will be heartbroken. I would wonder how much our break-up has affected him.
My Trayvon is gone, and I am in total shock. My son, my son. Tears won’t stop. The pain will never stop. I try to put the blame on the murderer. I want revenge. Someone will pay for taking my son from me. If I had a gun, if I had a gun. The tears won’t stop.
Trayvon, why? Why did you change? This was not the real you. I am so sad, so numb, I can’t go on anymore. I love you so much, son. Living has become very difficult without you. I don’t blame the man who did this, I don’t believe he was racist. I feared this day would come, but never imagined your death being the result. I want you back, I want you back, I want my baby back. God, look after my son.
If I had a son like George Zimmerman, I would love him dearly.