I grew up the proud son of a cop.
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Growing up, my dad was my hero. After all, his job was to bust bad guys. He was a wrestler and a powerlifter. Even at five foot nine, he looked like a giant. I had the distinct honor of being able to say, “my dad could beat up your dad,” and I was probably right.
I owe so much of my character to my dad. He instilled me with integrity, honesty, and creativity. Above all, he taught me the value of generosity.
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Paul Stalker, June 1984, Los Angeles
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South-Central Los Angeles, April 30, 1992; photo by Paul Sakuma, Associated Press
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East Lake Street and Minnehaha Avenue, Minneapolis, May 2020; photo by Cody Stalker
“Our society has been minimizing racial injustices for too long. As a white male, I know I share accountability for that.”
“I have a deep respect for my dad and his career and for the people he worked with. . . . But how then do I reconcile with the institution my dad was devoted to—one that has historically promoted racism and bias and violence?”