This is a long read about the role of fatherlessness, an unstable home life, leck of parenting, the media, and race pimps,

Sudden death on Canfield Drive in Ferguson
Jesse Lee Peterson uncovers the real story of Michael Brown
August 9, 2015

DEATH ON CANFIELD DRIVE

By Jesse Lee Peterson

If he slept at all the night before – and that much is doubtful – Michael Brown woke up at his grandmother’s apartment on the morning of August 9, angry. He did not know this would be the last day of his life. He probably didn’t care.

How do I know this? I know it in part by researching Brown’s history, in part by observing his actions later that day, and in part by having been where Michael Brown was. When I was younger, anger drove me almost as hard as it drove him. Many of the same things that angered Michael, angered me. For years, I drank deeply from a toxic spring of hatred. I consumed the poison. I wallowed in it. Thank God, I lived long enough to find the antidote. Michael did not. The poison – not Officer Darren Wilson – killed him before he had a chance.

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Wilson fired repeatedly as Brown rushed him. As Wilson knew from experience, an angry, charging three-hundred-pounder is no more “unarmed” than a bull in a bullring. The initial hits to Michael’s right arm scarcely slowed him down. The closer Michael got, the more accurate Wilson’s aim grew. Finally, a shot to the top of Michael’s head as he lunged toward Wilson ended the showdown on Canfield Drive. The neighbors who had not seen the shooting already knew the story line. Two years earlier, the media had walked them through it in the shooting death of Trayvon Martin in Florida. There, they were told, this innocent little “boy,” on the way back from getting his “brother” some Skittles and iced tea, was stalked and shot by a racist thug named Zimmerman, who, if he wasn’t exactly white, was white enough.

The neighbors never learned just how closely Trayvon’s life – and death – paralleled Michael’s. When Trayvon was three, his father, Tracy Martin, had left home too. For the next twelve years, Trayvon spent most of his time at the home of Alicia Stanley, Tracy Martin’s second wife. When Trayvon was fifteen, Tracy left Alicia for a woman named Brandy Green, and Trayvon lost his home again. The boy was shattered. Alicia had been his rock. “I’m the one that went to them football games,” Alicia told CNN’s Anderson Cooper. “I’m the one that was there when he was sick.” After the shooting, Alicia was treated as if she did not exist. The same was true for Brandy Green. For the sake of the cameras, Tracy had to be reunited with Sybrina Fulton, Trayvon’s birth mom. It made for a better image.

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Although no one much wanted Michael around when he was alive, apparently everyone wanted a piece of him when he was dead.

Read more at http://www.wnd.com/2015/08/sudden-death-...kUFB9zvuYYUe.99

Quote: Sanguine wrote in post #2

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An awesome and brutal read.

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Quote: truthkeeper wrote in post #6

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@algernonpj

Can you believe I just saw this? How timely is that? Very depressing, but powerful.

Thank you.

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