I never really understood the purpose of walking in someone else's shoes, or even wanting to. I understood the idea. I understood that if I stand here before you a young white woman that there are only so many shoes that I've actually worn in my life, most of them shoes of privilege and all of them quite comfortable. I don't know that any of you would want to walk in my shoes at this particular point in my life. My father says that I have become a rebel, which secretly made him proud, my mother says the problem with being a rebel is that you have to have a cause. I told both of them I am a rebel and I do have a cause. I didn't at first, no cause, no purpose just tagging along because I didn't want anyone to call me a racist for not being supportive. At first I just got caught up in the rush of the moment, the anger everyone felt. I think that's what happens when we say, "Wrong place wrong time," is that at some point it wasn't. I was there to stand hand in hand with my 6’1, principals honor roll, only child, living in the suburbs, African-American boyfriend.