I guess it’s fitting that on the day I saw “Fruitvale Station,” the dramatic retelling of the murder of 22-year-old Oscar Grant, it was pouring rain from the sky. God must have known I was going to need something to mask my tears. Watching “Fruitvale Station” was a first for me. It was the first time I watched a movie that made me cry. It was the first movie that stirred some sort of fear and apprehensiveness towards the streets, subways, and alleys I grew up believing were safe. To be totally transparent, watching “Fruitvale Station” was also the first time I actually believed my mother was right to worry about me.
As I sat in the theater looking into the eyes of Michael B. Jordan, the actor playing Oscar Grant, I didn’t see any of those cliché windows into Grant’s soul. I saw myself. You see, when I first got into this business, I was a bright-eyed 22-year-old burger slinger with dreams of making it in the big city. My first big assignment was to cover a film screening in New York City which meant I’d have to catch three trains to take my bite out of the Big Apple. I was so excited and my mom was excited that I was excited, but there was an underlying sense of worry etched in her brow. She said, “Boy, you be careful out there. Call me when you get there. Matter of fact, come pray with me.”
Me being the slightly rebellious son fighting to claim his independence waved her off with, “Ma, you worry too much! I’ll be fine. I can take of myself. But make sure Jesus lets you know He got me.” She kissed me on the forehead and I bounded down the stairs and out to meet my dreams. Everything went fine at the screening, in fact, I pinched myself just to make sure everything was truly happening. All of that excitement I had quickly dissipated once I stepped through the door and Mom was sitting there holding on to a concoction of fear, worry and anger.
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“Didn’t I tell you to call me when you got there?! You don’t listen! You think you know everything and that you’re invincible!” And there I was getting into an argument with my mom, the only parent I had, over a missed phone call. In my naïveté, I deemed her reaction to be a bit extra so I bucked back. “Didn’t I just walk through the door?! I don’t even know why you acting like this! I finally did something I have been dreaming about since I was a kid and you can’t even be happy for me! You seriously mad over a phone call? For real?!” There was no response to my tirade, which in my house is worse than catching a Joe Jackson-rivaling ass whooping. No response meant she was plotting and that’s never a good thing if you’re on the receiving end.
However, nothing bad happened. I woke up the next morning and found my mom just sitting and thinking. When she saw me, I could see that she’d been crying. “Jonathan, let me tell you a story. When I was in high school a couple of my friends decided to take the train into the city and invited me to go. I started to but got a weird feeling and just stayed home. After not seeing my friends for a few days, I found out they had been shot and killed in New York City and it scared me so much I never wanted to go back. That’s why I freaked out when you told me about that assignment. It had nothing to do with me not being happy for you because I’m your mother and will always support you even when you show your ass and think you gonna disrespect me in my house. So when it comes to going to the city, just do what I ask.”
That memory began to haunt me as I watched “Fruitvale Station” because Oscar Grant’s mother, played by Oscar winner Octavia Spencer, asked him to take the train because it was New Year’s Eve and she didn’t want him drinking and driving. All she wanted was to keep her son safe and the one thing she asked him to do wound up being the last thing he did. As I watched, I couldn’t help but think how that could be me because I spend nearly five hours on a train everyday. Seeing the pain in Ms. Johnson’s eyes made me pray mine would never have that look.
So after seeing “Fruitvale Station,” I have to give it up to the heavens for giving me a mother who worries too much and still calls me everyday at work despite knowing how much I hate it. I’m thankful she still fusses at me about putting my hands in my pockets, putting a hood on when it isn’t that cold, and always asking for a receipt. Because of those things, I’ve never had to deal with the police in the way Oscar Grant did. Because of those things, I am still here able to be living my dream when I’m aware that, like Oscar Grant, many don’t have the opportunity.
So despite Father’s Day coming up, let’s give it up to the single mothers who continue to love their sons in spite of all of the dumb things we do. We, as the product of broken homes and street knowledge, salute you for helping us not become that negative statistic. Thank you Ms. Johnson for bringing a young man into the world who became a catalyst for change without ever intending to. You and Oscar Julian Grant, III are appreciated.
