Trayvon Martin would have turned 23 years old today. I was so proud when my young brother turned 23. I called it his Jordan year. We got drunk with his friends in his loft. I marveled at how the boy who never stopped running once ran and put his head through a window, and then laughed (at 4 years old), had grown into such an awesome, and capable, and not only potential-filled, but actively potential-realizing young adult. He’s 24 now, and will be 25 soon, and I just wonder what stories Trayvon’s family would have remembered if they got to celebrate today with him. And that’s the thing. Martin and Malcolm knew that martyrdom was a possibility. Trayvon just wanted some skittles. And some tea. And his family just wanted to celebrate his Jordan year. Never forget. Rest in Power, young man.