He wants a pair of Air Jordan 4s for Christmas.

我和兒子穿相同鞋碼，

I buy them,

聖誕他想要一雙 AJ 4s，

and then I steal them from his closet,

我買下了鞋，

like a twisted Grinch-themed episode of "Black-ish."

卻又從他衣櫃中偷走，

(Laughter)

像黑人版的鬼精靈偷走聖誕節。

The kicks are totems to my youth.

（笑聲）

I wear them like mercury on my Black man feet.

跑鞋是我年輕時代的圖騰，

I can't get those young freedom days back fast enough.

我如腳踩福特水星，

Last time I was really fast I was 16,

卻也追不回自由的年輕歲月，

outrunning a doorman on the Upper East Side.

但 16 歲的我，跑得飛快， 甩掉上東城區的門衛，

He caught me vandalizing his building,

他發現我在他的大廈塗鴉。

not even on some artsy stuff,

倒不是塗在什麼藝術品上，

just ... stupid.

我就是......愚蠢。

Of all the genders, boys are the stupidest.

所有性別中，男孩最愚蠢。

(Laughter)

（笑聲）

Sixteen was a series of barely getting away

16 歲是三番兩次 從警察指縫溜走的日子，

and never telling my parents.

但我從來不對爸媽說，

I assume that my son is stewarding this tradition well.

猜想我兒子也沿襲了這優良傳統。

Sixteen was "The Low End Theory" and Marvin Gaye on repeat.

16 歲時馬文·蓋伊的旋律飄揚，

Sixteen is younger than Trayvon and older than Emmett Till.

《低層理論》專輯循環播放。

At the DMV, my boy's in line to officially enter his prime suspect years:

16 歲的年紀，

young, brown and behind the wheel,

比被警察無故槍殺的崔文年輕，

a moving semaphore, signaling the threat of communities from below.

比受私刑虐死的艾莫·提爾年長。

On top of the food chain, humans have no natural predator,

兒子在監理所排着隊等考駕照，

but America plays out something genetically embedded and instinctual

步向被無故列為頭號嫌疑犯的歲月；

in its appetite for the Black body.

黑皮膚，愛開車，正年輕，

America guns down Black bodies and then walks around them,

是刺目的黑人旗幟，

bored,

是來自下層社會的威脅。

like laconic lions next to half-eaten gazelles,

站在食物鏈頂端，人類本無天敵，

bloody lips ...

美利堅對黑人的食慾，

"America and the Black Body" on some Nat Geo shit.

卻嵌入本能。

Well, he passes his road test at the DMV.

美利堅擊斃黑色身體，

He does this strut C-Walk broken "Fortnite" thing

繞其行走，百般聊賴，

on the way in to finish his paperwork,

如冷漠的獅子，

true joy and calibrated cool under the eye of my filming iPhone,

與吃剩的羚羊，

the victory dance of someone who has just salvaged a draw.

血盆大口，

He's earned this win, but he's so 16

似〈國家地理〉的相片， 標題：〈美利堅與黑人屍體〉。

he can't quite let his body be fully free.

兒子路考過了，

When he's three,

得意地邊跳著胡亂的嘻哈街舞，

I'm in handcuffs in downtown Oakland.

邊走到文書作業區。

Five minutes ago, I was illegally parked.

我的手機鏡頭裏他歡樂至極，

Now I'm in the back of a squad car, considering the odds that I'm going to die

像是在緊張情勢下得分的球場英雄。

here, 15 minutes away from my son who expects that in 18 minutes,

他勝利了，但太 16 歲， 還帶著太多青澀。

daddy's gonna pick him up from preschool.

他 3 歲時，

There are no pocket-size cameras to capture this moment, so.

我在奧克蘭被銬上手銬，

I learned a lot of big words when I was 16 getting ready for the SAT,

5 分鐘前，我違規停車，

but none of them come to me now.

5 分鐘後，在警車後座 盤算著存活機率。

In the police car, the only thing that really speaks is my skin.

15 分鐘車程會到他的幼稚園， 原本會早 3 分鐘接到他，

I know this:

當時沒有行動相機來捕捉這一切，

I was parked on a bus zone on 12th and Broadway,

我 16 歲準備 SAT 考試時， 學了很多高尚的詞藻，

running to the ATM on the corner.

這時一個也想不起來。

I pull the cash out just as a police car pulls up behind me,

警車上，只有膚色能說話。

give him the "Aw shucks, my bad," that earnest Black man face.

我默默回想：

He waits till I'm back in the car and then hits the siren,

我把車停在百老匯 和第 12 街的公車停靠區，

takes my license with his hand on the gun,

奔向街角的提款機，

comes back two minutes later, gun drawn, another patrol car now, four cops now,

剛領到錢，就見一輛警車停在身後，

my face on the curb, hands behind my back, shackled.

努力擠出「啊！真抱歉」的 誠懇黑人表情。

I'm angry and humiliated, only until I'm scared and then sad.

我回到車上，他才拉響警笛，

I smell like the last gasp before my own death.

一手在腰間的槍上，一手收繳駕照，

I think how long the boy will wait before he realizes

兩分鐘後，槍已握在他手上，

that daddy is not on his way.

多來了一輛巡邏車，共有四個警察。

I think his last barely formed memory of me

我的臉被壓在人行道上，

will be the story of how I never came for him.

雙手反剪，牢牢銬住。

I try to telepathically say goodbye.

憤怒、屈辱、

The silence brings me no peace.

然後恐懼、悲傷。

The quiet makes it hard to rest.

我的命如在旦夕。

In the void there is anger mushrooming in the moss at the base of my thoughts,

我的兒子還未意識到，

a fungus growing on the spine of my freedom attempts.

爸爸不會來接他了。

I'm free from all except contempt,

他對我最後的記憶，

the spirit of an unarmed civilian in the time of civil unrest,

將是苦苦等待，爸爸卻沒有出現。

no peace, just Marvin Gaye falsettos arching like a broken-winged sparrow,

我試著用心靈感應告別，

competing against the empty sirens,

寂靜之下沒有平靜，

singing the police.

沉默之中難求安詳。

Apparently some cat from Richmond had a warrant out on him,

一片空白中， 憤怒在思考的底層醞釀，

and when the cop says my name to dispatch, dude doesn't hear "Marc Joseph,"

蠶食著我骨子裡爭取自由的希望。

he hears "Mike Johnson."

動盪時代中的庶民， 一個手無寸鐵的靈魂，

I count seven cars and 18 cops on the corner now,

惟一能銬住我的就是蔑視。

a pride around a pound of flesh.

沒有和平，如折翼的麻雀，

By the grace of God, I'm not fed to the beast today.

只剩馬文·蓋伊的高音迴蕩，

Magnanimously, the first cop makes sure to give me a ticket

抵抗空虛的警笛——警察之歌。

for parking in a bus zone,

里奇蒙有個傢伙被通緝，

before he sets me free.

當警察登記我的名字，

The boy is 16.

他把「馬克·約瑟夫」，

He has a license to drive in the hollow city,

錯聽成「邁克·詹森」。

enough body to fill my shoes.

數一數，七個警車，十八個警察，

I have grey in my beard,

全來分食這一小塊肉，還得意洋洋。

and it tells the truth.

感謝上帝，這次我逃過獅口。

He can navigate traffic in the age of autonomous vehicles.

警察開恩，給我開了罰單： 公車停靠區違規停車，

You know, people say "the talk,"

然後釋放了我。

like the thing happens just once,

我的兒子 16 歲，

like my memory's been erased and my internet is broken,

他有了駕照，能在空洞的城市飛馳，

like I can't read today's martyred name,

強壯的大人身，懵懂的孩子心。

like today's the day that I don't love my son enough

而我鬍子泛白，日漸蒼老。

to tell him, "Bro, I really don't care about your rights, yo.

在自動駕駛時代， 他能在車陣中穿梭自如。

Your mission is to get home to me.

黑人爸媽對孩子的那番「談話」，

Live to tell me the story, boy.

談話就這一番， 好像事件只會發生一次，

Get home to me."

好像記憶都已抹滅， 好像網路都斷了線，

Today's talk is mostly happening in my head

好像我忘卻了逝者之名，

as he pulls onto the freeway and Marvin Gaye comes on the radio.

好像我的愛不足以開口訴說：

I'm wearing the boy's shoes,

「兒子，我不在乎你的權利，

and the tune in my head is the goodbye that I almost never said,

你只需要回家，

a goodbye the length of a requiem,

活着告訴我你的故事，

a kiss, a whiff of his neck,

回到我身邊。」

the length of a revelation

我目送他駛上公路， 這番話在我腦海寫就，

and a request flying high in the friendly sky

馬文·蓋伊的歌聲衝出他的收音機。

without ever leaving the ground.

我穿着他的鞋，

My pain is a walking bass line,

「再見」回響在腦海， 但總是來不及說出口，

a refrain, placated stress against the fading baseline.

因為這聲「再見」包含了 一首安魂曲、一個吻、

Listen, this is not to be romantic,

一縷他脖頸的氣味，

but to assert a plausible scenario for the existential moment.

還有一個啟示、

Driving while Black is its own genre of experience.

一句請求，穿越天際，乞求和平，

Ask Marvin.

但我只能停駐於此。

It may not be the reason why you sing like an angel,

我的痛苦是低迴的旋律，

but it surely has something to do with why heaven bends to your voice.

安撫着壓力，對抗消逝的底線。

The boy driving, the cop in the rearview mirror

聽着，這不是浪漫，

is a ticket to ride or die.

而是一個殘酷的現實——

When you give a Black boy "the talk,"

黑人開車經歷「與衆不同」，

you pray he is of the faction of the fraction that survives.

馬文·蓋伊的歌聲都見證過，

You pitch him the frequency of your telepathic goodbye,

你也許不是為此而擁有 如天使般的歌聲，

channel the love sustained in Marvin's upper register

但你讓天堂俯身傾聽不會沒有原因。

under his skullcap.

我的兒子開着車，

Black music at its best

後視鏡中警車尾隨，

is an exploded black hole

等待開出一張決定生死的罰單。

responding to the call of America at its worst.

當你給一個黑人男孩那番「談話」，

Strike us down, the music lives,

你祈禱他是那少之又少的倖存者，

dark, like tar or tobacco

你希望他聽到那句心靈感應的再見，

or cotton in muddy water.

你將愛灌注於馬文·蓋伊 無檐帽下的高音。

Get home to me, son.

最好的黑人音樂，

Like a love supreme, a god as love,

是個被引爆的黑洞，

a love overrules,

回應着美國最壞的時代。

feathers for the angelic lift of the restless dead,

我們倒下，音樂永存。

like a theme for trouble man,

黑色，如焦油與菸絲，

or a 16-year-old boy, free to make mistakes and live through them,

如棉花浸泡於泥水。

grow from them,

回到我身邊，兒子，

holy, holy, mercy, mercy me,

像至愛，像神化身成的愛，

mercy,

勝過一切的愛，

mercy.

像指引不安死者的天使，

Thank you.

像「黑手煞星」的故事主題，

(Applause)

或是個 16 歲男孩， 容許他在犯錯中存活，