Would I care more about Ferguson if my son was black?

For the second Monday in a row I received a call from a reader identifying herself as "the concerned mother of an African-American son."

Last week she phoned in to ask why the newspaper – and me in particular – have not "paid enough attention to the ongoing controversy in Missouri."

This week she asked if I'd seen the news reports about the 12-year-old boy in Cleveland who was shot by police over the weekend.

I had. The story has made national news. Tamir Rice was shot while in the playground area of a recreation center in Cleveland. Police said when they ordered Rice to raise his hands he reached into his waistband for what reports described as an "airsoft"-type replica gun — a BB-gun that resembles a semi-automatic pistol. It did not have an orange safety indicator on the muzzle.

"Do you understand now what I was talking about last week?" the reader said to me. "It's scary being the parent of a young black male."

According to an investigation last month by ProPublica, the independent non-profit news organization, the chances of a young black male being killed by police are 21 times greater than a young white male.

That's part of what has brought near constant tension and unrest to Ferguson, Mo., since a white police officer shot to death the unarmed black teenager Michael Brown.

That state's governor declared a state of emergency, which permits him to activate the Missouri National Guard, in anticipation of protests following an expected a grand jury decision on whether to indict the officer.

Last week, the Phoenix mother of a young black son wanted to know if the reason I haven't written much of anything about Ferguson has to do with the fact that I'm white.

Back in August the Pew Research Center did a survey and found that roughly 80 percent of African Americans said the shooting in Ferguson and subsequent unrest raised important questions about race in America. Only 37 percent of whites agreed.

I'd like to think that race didn't matter to me, that it's more a question of geography than of skin color. Missouri is a long way from here.

The caller wondered if I would feel the same way if a police officer in Phoenix had done what Ferguson Officer Darren Wilson had done.

That would make it more of a local story, I said.

"But this problem isn't just in Missouri," she said. "It's everywhere. I've seen it here with my own son, with his cousins, with many young black men."

On Sunday, Missouri Pastor Traci Blackmon told her congregation at Christ the King United Church of Christ that no matter what the grand jury does, "The same schools will remain, the same economic depravity will remain, the same rates of incarceration will remain and the same racial profiling will remain."

Last week, the woman on the phone asked if I had a son. I do. She asked Monday if he was doing okay. I said he was. She wondered if I thought the media would do more reporting about the dangers young black males face after the tension in Ferguson ends.

"No disrespect," she said, "But I bet you would if your sons looked like mine."