The Journal of an Angry Black Man

When people tell me that I write well I am often in disbelief. Not that I don't write well in the sense of writing college research papers or high school reports, because I feel that I'm able to do that well or at least I've proven that I can do those well by graduating from school. But when it comes to writing things that people WANT to read, I don't know where I stand. People read my blog and take whatever away from what I write, but they aren't affected by it in any real way, at least I don't think so. I want to be prolific. I want to change the way people see Black men. I want to change the way people see Black suburbanites like me. I want to redefine Blackness and let brothers like myself out there know that we count just as much as the brothers in jail and on drugs, and as much as the successful brothers who have left the hood behind for corporate America and PhDs. But what do I have to offer the culture? Where does my experience land me in the spectrum

A couple of weeks ago I had the pleasure of going to DC and finally getting to visit the National Museum of African American History and Culture. I really enjoyed myself. It was great to finally have a place where the story of my people, Black people, can be told for all to come and see. I love museums and this place definitely does not disappoint. As a student of history, I was really happy to see how much information they put into this building and how they tried very hard to tell our story with dignity and respect, while keeping intact not so popular truths of our place here in America. The building itself is beautiful, and placed in a very prominent place on the National Mall right next to the Washington Monument and close to the White House. It definitely holds prime real estate in the center of DC. The lobby is a clean and open space, with the information desk dominating the first floor. There's a large square elevator that takes visitors to the bottom level where the tour

It's almost Christmas time and I just wanted to write a little bit about where I am and what life is treating me like at the moment. The tree is up here at the house and there are even gifts under it. Not as many as there used to be when I was a kid but it's just Aunt Bert and me here now so I guess it wouldn't be expected to be full. But it's feeling like Christmas nonetheless. The weather has definitely changed and going outside for anything is sure to make you think twice. For me, going to have a smoke has become damn near torture. The cold has me re-thinking smoking all together, which might be a good thing depending on how one looks at it. The holidays have kind of lost their magic as an adult, especially one who doesn't have kids around. I don't have to put up the lights or keep secrets in order to make the magic of Santa seem real to some little boy or girl. Even my nieces and nephews are grown now and have their own children to create Christmas for

While we may not have the same father or mother I mean what I say when I Call you my brother We may be quite different, but we're also the same We both look like Africa, thought I carry the White man's name We are different hues of brown, and have different kinks in our hair We got those Jackson 5 nostrils to help breathe in God's air WE're from the same city, same school, same hood In the morning you say, "Blessings!", I answer with, "What's good!" I talk about my husband, you tell me about your wife We both know that love is essential to life I read from the Bible, you recite a Sura or two But our God is unchanging, Allah is always true While you prayed that your words not fall on deaf ears I was praying for a sign, and waiting to hear You teach me about law, how to set ourselves free I teach you about the Ancestors and our storied history Sometimes we bump heads, and don't always agree But I have

Outside the National Museum of African American History and Culture