When I was much younger Chuck E Cheese’s wasn’t the only place where kids could be kids. The mouse had a brown bear cousin named Showbiz and my siblings, cousins, friends, and I would frequent his Pizza establishment.
We’d scramble around there wildly to play games like Ski-ball, use tickets to buy prizes, eat our fill of pizza, and enjoy lots of video games. Space Ace and Dig Dug got most of my tokens, but I loved to watch my big sisters play Duck Hunt.
The Hunt started like this: a non-descript dog would come from the right of the screen sniffing the ground. He would get a scent then jump behind some tall grass. Next, he’d stand up laughing while holding a duck in each hand before retreating behind the brush. Moments later without much warning ducks would fly into the air.
Your objective was to shoot the ducks with a light gun. My sisters would unleash shots all over. Those ducks, who could eventually fly away if not hit, were essentially trapped in the confines of that screen.
A few years ago, I felt trapped like those ducks.
I was attending a Scarface concert, part of the hip-hop legend’s “Icon Tour”. I was sitting in a plush booth in the upper portion of a two-story venue. Overlooking the stage, I watched Scarface put on a performance I’ll never forget. It was the best seat in the house until gunshots rang out.
I quickly hid under my table before laying completely flat on the floor. As people stampeded for their lives my table somehow toppled over on top of me. From there I watched feet scrabble by wildly.
My drink was on that table and it spilled in the crash, racing down the wood to finish all over my fitted hat and clothing. I didn’t care, though. And as badly as I wanted to get out, I laid there for several minutes without moving.
With enough nerve I started to crawl, making my way to an exit door. Once outside I saw a battalion of police with their weapons and riot shields entering the venue opposite of where I just escaped. I got a glimpse of what was coming so I ran to my car.
Sadly, I can’t say the same for deceased Louisville emergency medical technician Breonna Taylor. The Black 26-year-old was fatally shot by White plain-clothed Louisville police while sleeping in her home on March 13, 2020.
Executing a no-knock search warrant, 3 officers wildly stormed her residence without warning for allegedly having the scent of drug distribution. According to various news reports, an ex-boyfriend of Taylor’s was believed by the police to be retrieving illegal packages at her address. An investigation proved these claims to be false.
On the night of Breonna Taylor’s death, the officers bashed their way in but were met with defensive gunfire from her current boyfriend Kenneth Walker. I legal firearms carrier, Walker thought they were being burglarized.
With the couple essentially trapped in the confines of their home, the police unleashed shots all over. At least 8 of their bullets struck Taylor. Her blood was spilled as she laid in bed not moving.
A victim of a flighty hunt gone terribly wrong, Breonna never got the chance to jump behind something, crawl to an exit, or even duck. |THIS.
[Editor’s Note: I wrote this article for the August issue of URBAN Magazine, one that features a brilliant cover interview with R&B act Olivia among other great entertainment and socially aware pieces.
URBAN has been very vocal in its pages about the growing number of innocent Black lives being lost to police.
Following the disappointing Breonna Taylor case verdict, a decision that punished one officer for endangering her neighbors and not for taking her life, I reached out to URBAN’s publisher – the great Benjamin Moody. I asked him about bringing “DUCK” to THISENT.com. He thought it was a great idea.
Both the THISENT and URBAN teams thank you for reading this piece. All of us here at THIS appreciate you continuing to visit our site and we ask that you check out the current issue of URBAN Magazine.
Pray for the sick and beware the foolish. Stay safe. Have as much fun as you can. Be kind. We love you. – Mr. Joe Walker]
