I grew up the proud son of a cop.
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.
Paul Stalker, June 1984, Los Angeles
South-Central Los Angeles, April 30, 1992; photo by Paul Sakuma, Associated Press
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?”