He was an inspiration, of sorts.
I’m so sad at the passing of Rush today at the ripe old age of 70. I’m so sad he didn’t die sooner. Because had he died at 69, he wouldn’t have been around to say Covid 19 was the common cold. He wouldn’t have been around to say masks were for the weak.
Rush was an inspiration, of sorts. He had 15 million followers. He inspired some of them to death.
I’m so sad at the passing of Rush today at the ripe old age of 70. I’m so sad he didn’t die sooner. Because had he died at…
Tonight’s Game Will Be Neither Super Nor Seen By Me
Tonight I will sleep well.
The game will be starting soon. The parties will be starting soon. The commercials will be starting soon. Someone will be singing the anthem and soon thereafter someone will be singing at halftime. Some call this Sunday in February, Super. I don’t. For me it’s #ColinKaepernick Day.
For me, there will be no game or parties or commercials or anthem or even a halftime concert. Life is about choices. I could choose to watch the game or I could choose to sleep well tonight. I’ll choose the latter. Because for me, I can’t choose both…
The Privilege Of Being Entitled Yet Feeling Aggrieved
What must it feel like to feel white?
I’ve visited the Capitol. My invitation didn’t quite require an act of Congress however it did require an act from a Congressman. How exciting it was for my family to leave our house in Atlanta to tour everyone’s house in DC.
As I recently turned on my TV and watched Trump’s repugnant traitors tour everyone’s House, I did so not so much with shock as I did so with awe. I can only imagine their exuberance. I can only imagine their freedom. They stormed the US Capitol…in broad daylight…while defacing and taking…
If Black Lives, Reproductive Freedom And Voter Suppression Matter, Don’t Just Vote Biden and Harris To The White House, Vote Democrats To The Georgia State House
Marches, I’ve missed a few, but this November feels like a march to me.
I missed the Black Lives Matter marches in May but I won’t miss the one in November. Ahmaud Arbery and Breonna Taylor and George Floyd and the white woman who may or may not have been named Karen who falsely accused the black bird watcher, awakened the collective consciousness of quarantined communities across the country and the world.
Black lives…
When I see Kamala Harris, I see my daughters.
I remember that big November night in ’08 when I had a house full of crying guests.
It was indeed festive. We had gumbo and chicken and cake and wine. We killed time by making small talk while awaiting the moment. And then it happened. A Black guy, it didn’t really matter his name, became president. But not just America’s president, OUR president of America.
At the time, I didn’t even know most of my guests. It didn’t really matter their names, either. Relatively new to my suburban neighborhood, I invited everyone nearby who I thought would share my pride…
For a single day, I needed that sense of security
I’m Black and 6'4" every day, and I’m 210 pounds most days.
Today I awoke with the single objective. Today I would not be Black. As proud as I am and as ironic as it may be, I needed, if only for this day, to be free of the burden I wear that can often be damn near enslaving.
I woke up in the comfort of my safe bed, and I worked in the comfort of my safe home. I exercised in the comfort of my garage and cooked in the comfort of my kitchen. I ate in the comfort…
Despite Our Distance, That Day My Dad Taught Me A Lesson I’ll Never Forget
Yesterday would have been my dad’s birthday. I know because my mom told me so. I didn’t forget. I didn’t remember. I simply didn’t know. I’ve simply never known. I’ve never cared enough to know.
He died several years ago. Before he died, he met my children. He met my wife. “That man is daddy’s daddy,” I remember hearing my older daughter whisper to my younger daughter. They never really knew him.
Neither did I, really.
I heard the stories about him. Of which most of…
White privilege isn’t only the caramel and chocolate and cream and cherry on top, it’s also the vanilla underneath.
I can’t wait Till sundae.
I’ve been waiting for many a lifetime. I’d rather not wait for mine. It’s not that I don’t want the whole sundae. It sure looks tasty from afar. But for now, after Emmitt and Trayvon and Jordan and Tamir. After Botham and Atatiana. After Renisha and Jonathan and after the other one or ten thousand prior to and subsequent of, a scoop of vanilla will do.
Sure, the toppings of white privilege would be nice. Sometimes they are big, like greater inherited wealth and greater job prospects and greater healthcare. And sometimes they are little…
Will she grow up to be an angry black woman? God, I hope so!
I have three to 48 hours to write you a love letter.
I better think fast, write fast and edit a little because my daughter, your mother, is in labor. I’m going to be a grandfather — -your grandfather. And if the doctors are correct, Ava, you’ll be here in 3 to 48 hours.
What will you look like? What will you sound like? Will you cry a lot like your mother? For the sake of payback, I hope so. Will you be strong-willed like your grandmother? For the sake of future success, I hope so. Will you be nurturing…
When I see Biden hug those who would rather hang me, I question whether I can hang with him.
Appearances matter. Somehow, after 50 years of public life, Joe Biden seemingly doesn’t understand this. Somehow after 50 years of public life, he seemingly believes he can publicly befriend my enemy and remain my friend. Somehow after 50 years of public life, he continually sees virtue in those whose objectives are diametrically opposed to mine. He sees virtue in the vile, those who see no virtue in me. Perhaps I’m a fast learner but in my line of work, it didn’t…
Arnold Mays Ragas
A husband. A father. A former member of the Georgia House of Representatives. A former judge. Now, an indigent defense attorney winning unwinnable trials.
