I waited for my daddy on our front porch, eager to etch his face in my memory. He had only been back home for two months, yet still I felt a determined urgency to study his face and link the person whom I loved in the corners of my mind for the past two years with the person in front of me. My brothers, Curtis and John, who were too young to really remember a time with dad, sat on the stoop comparing matchbox cars and fighting over the best piece of sidewalk to race them.
There is a very big part of me that has delayed writing this post for fear of rejection from you. A part of me doesn’t want to be this honest because I know revealing this little corner of my thoughts might make you uncomfortable; it might even cause you to disown or reject me. But as these thoughts trapped in the confines of my mind demand to be released, I’ve decided to breathe and share anyway.
Fair warning, this is about race.