Trayvon, his face laced with tattoos, asked, “Now why would you be glad that I was born?” I had to think. “Well, that’s easy,” I told him. “It’s cuz you’ve altered my heart. I have more room in it now, because of you.” I had never seen Trayvon cry before. Heal the wounds. Warm the heart. Maybe, I think, the time of transformation, for both of us, has shown up.
