“Hey Dad,” Trayvon called out, “I’m going to run down the the store for some skittles.”
“O.K., got enough money?”
“Yeah, I got more than enough, thanks – be right back!”
“Oh – Trayvon!”
“Oh – Trayvon!”
“Yes dad?”
“Don’t forget your gun.”
“I don’t have any bullets, Dad.” The door opens. “I’ll be O.K.”
“Here – take mine.” The father said, “You don’t know who you might run into.”
“I’ll be all right, I’ll hurry,”
“I’ll be all right, I’ll hurry,”
“NO!” The father’s voice resonated, “Don’t go out there, it’s pitch dark. There might be somebody out there looking for trouble.”
“Well, sigh, O.K.”
“And remember, if anybody starts stalking you, or coming after you, in Florida now all you need, to shoot somebody, is to feel like you’re in danger.”
“O.K. Dad, I’ll be right back, don’t worry.”
Obviously, Trayvon didn’t take a gun on his fatal trip. But if he had, he probably would have had a much more compelling reason to use it than his killer did. Apparently he discovered he was being followed on his way home. According to his girl friend, who was talking with him on his mobile phone right before he was shot, Trayvon knew somebody was following him, he knew he was being stalked. He knew he was in trouble. He certainly had reason to feel like he was in danger.
If I had been Trayvon, and if I had had a gun, and I knew a five-foot ten-inch 250 pound man was coming after me in the dark, I might have pulled that gun and informed the stranger that I was armed and asked him to leave me alone. If he didn’t, and still came toward me, then I might have fired a warning shot into the earth before I decided to Stand My Ground. But Travon didn't have a gun. And in Florida now, if you don't have a gun in your pocket, you don't have any ground to stand on.
