DC

This week is my coming out, of sorts. Not sexually, but ethnically. I’m claiming an identity that I’ve only recently felt empowered to embrace. And it’s scary, but wonderful.

Oh, Mercury Retrograde…you trickster, you! Can always count on you to remind me of what and who I love most, and give me a chance to get my life right. Literally.

Black Music Month is like a second birthday celebration. It is a wonderful reminder of the role that music has played not just in my own development, but as a vehicle for expression and success for my entire family.

Looking at photos of my mother are almost like looking in a mirror. Though the pain of her death is now distant, the questions I want to ask her are ever-present.

Can we embrace the good in the man, the legacy by which he has risen to power, and still properly scrutinize, chastise and hold him accountable for the glaring missteps and abuses?

Ntozake Shange’s Lady In Green lamented the notion of someone walking off “wit alla her stuff.” I now understand that it’s impossible to do so. Even when the stuff is gone, the memories remain.


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