I choose to embrace truth of Tyre Nichols as skateboarder, beloved son. We owe him that.
Tyre Nichols was more than a victim of police brutality. His story and that of many more Black people should be remembered also for how they lived.
There was this giant hill near my grandmother’s apartment complex in Tullahoma, Tennessee. My 9-year-old self, enamored by the cartoon show "Rocket Power" and the video game "Tony Hawk's Pro Skater," thought it would be a great idea to try skateboarding on this hill.
No pads, no helmet, just a $20 skateboard I bought at Walmart and Lupe Fiasco’s “Kick, Push” playing in my headphones. I pushed off the ground and made my way down the hill. My balance, much like my judgment, failed me and after three seconds on the board I went tumbling down the concrete hill scraping my knee.
My professional skateboarding dreams came to an end, but I’ll always remember that day.
It's a part of my story. And Tyre Nichols'.
Watching the coverage of Nichols, the 29-year-old Black man killed after an altercation with five Black police officers, has been difficult. The only shred of joy I’ve gotten through the news coverage is knowing Nichols was an avid skateboarder.
In a recent vigil, Tobey Skatepark in Memphis was filled with fellow skaters there to pay their respects.
“I know that Tyre had just been in the city not a long time, so he really didn't (have) time to establish an amount of friends and build a community that is here, and we just really wanted to show his mom that skaters do care about skaters,” Luke Sexton, one of the organizers, told The (Memphis) Commercial Appeal prior to the vigil.
Though Nichols’ time in Memphis was but a couple of years, skaters shared in his story, hopping on a board and letting everything go.
Yet another Black man killed by police sworn to protect us
When will my story end, I thought to myself as Memphians and Tennesseans alike waited to see the footage of the altercation? Not a positive thought, I know, but the reality is that my melanated skin is seen as a threat, as a trespass of this white-dominant society I reside in.
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I take runs around my gentrified Buena Vista neighborhood in North Nashville fearful that a white neighbor might one day accuse me of snooping around and call the police. In the past, police have chosen an empty lot next to my house as a staging zone. What if I walk my dogs and they find me suspicious and decide to approach me?
Nichols is remembered by his friends, family and the Memphis community as a joyous person and a great skateboarder. I think about Nichols and smile, knowing the expected falls and bruises didn’t keep him from skateboarding.
But the pain – knowing how tragic his story ended – creeps in my mind.
Friday night, an hour after the video of Nichols’ beating, I decided to watch the video.
I went to The Commercial Appeal online, saw the photo of Nichols on the ground screaming in pain and I immediately shut my laptop.
I then cried. I cried for Nichols and his story. I cried for his mother whose story will always have this tragic chapter.
Honor Tyre Nichols by celebrating his life, not just focusing on its tragic end
Even with tears in my eyes, I knew the gravity of this video, and so I pushed myself to open my laptop again and watch the video. I watched police wrestle Nichols to the ground and heard his screams after taking yet another punch to the face. I stopped the video. I took a tissue and cleaned my tears from the keyboard. I closed the laptop and went to sleep.
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Are we torturing ourselves by watching this video of police officers swarming around a defenseless Black man beating him? Or are we sharing in the tragic end of his story, using it to fuel our drive to ensure it doesn’t happen to anyone else?
I like to believe the latter. As inhumane as the beating was, let's be driven by the common thread of humanity.
We owe it to Nichols to celebrate the story he chose to tell, the joyous skateboarder who was a beloved son. We owe it to the multitude of Black stories yet to be told to end police brutality.
LeBron Hill is an opinion columnist for the Paste BN Network Tennessee and the curator of the Black Tennessee Voices Instagram account. Contact him at LHill@gannett.com. Find him on Twitter @hill_bron or Instagram @antioniohill12