I have one more confession to make. Not long ago, I came across a group of about five or so black boys on the sidewalk captured in this post's picture. The average age of these boys was around 12. It was dusk. The bells of the Link trains could be heard in the distance. The smell of East African food came from several directions. The dense forest on the base of Beacon Hill was growing darker. Stars in lower parts of the sky were growing brighter. After the lights of a car approached and passed, the boy who appeared to be the youngest in the group did something that disturbed me.

He was walking behind the tallest of the boys, he was loud, he was brash, he suddenly tossed a beer bottle high in the air and, after nearly hitting the head of the tall boy in front of him, it smashed into a thousand pieces on the concrete. All of the boys, save the tall one, burst into laughter. I was in a bit of shock because there was a moment when I thought the bottle was going to explode on the head of a young life. In my shock, I singled out and ordered the young boy who threw the bottle to clean up the mess he had made. The boys stopped laughing. The young boy stepped forward and said: "I ain't going to do shit, you dumb motherfucker." I did not back down. With more force in my voice, I ordered him to clean up the mess his recklessness had caused. He took another step toward me and said: "And if I don't, what are you going to do?"

Now, this was actually a very good question. I had no idea what I could do about this tense situation. My authority was limited to my age. I did not know the parents of the boys; they did not know my kids. I finally said something I regretted almost at the very moment of saying it. And it came out of my mouth because I had nothing else to push out of my mouth. I was in a void. The boy was in a void. I said, "I will call the police!" With that, all of the black boys freaked, bolted down the road, and disappeared around the corner. I was left alone in the dusk. The bell of the train rang in the distance. A light appeared in a window. I did not feel at all happy about this result, about the effect that one word had on the group. They feared nothing but the enforcers of the law—and with good reason. It also later occurred to me that the last thing they ever expected, and what might have truly rattled them to the core, was a black man turning to the police to resolve a situation. Before saying that one word, I was just some dumb adult; after saying it, I was the very definition of a lunatic: a black man calling the police for help.