Miss the Dead, Not the Living
June 28, 2016
I really miss my dad. Since he passed away suddenly almost four years ago, the grief of losing him has been a constant companion, always lurking just out of sight, waiting
I really miss my dad. Since he passed away suddenly almost four years ago, the grief of losing him has been a constant companion, always lurking just out of sight, waiting
To paraphrase P.T. Barnum, “There’s a sucker born again every minute.” Two years ago, according to a roomful of dewy-eyed pastors and fawning televangelists who met behind closed doors with GOP
49 children were murdered in a night club in Orlando. 49 sons and daughters, carried in the swollen bellies of mothers who waited breathlessly for them to arrive. 49 nurseries prepared
Every time I hear a white person tell me that they “don’t see color”, I know that they’re likely either lying or kidding themselves. I try very hard to see color
I really miss my dad. Since he passed away suddenly almost four years ago, the grief of losing him has been a constant companion, always lurking just out of sight, waiting
To paraphrase P.T. Barnum, “There’s a sucker born again every minute.” Two years ago, according to a roomful of dewy-eyed pastors and fawning televangelists who met behind closed doors with GOP
49 children were murdered in a night club in Orlando. 49 sons and daughters, carried in the swollen bellies of mothers who waited breathlessly for them to arrive. 49 nurseries prepared
Every time I hear a white person tell me that they “don’t see color”, I know that they’re likely either lying or kidding themselves. I try very hard to see color