I Don't Know What To Call This
In some aspects it's like Christmas. Phone calls. A certain lightness, giddiness if you like. I smile at people I meet. I get emotional when I think of the people who have gone on before. You wouldn't be able to tell my father a damn thing today.
Not a damn thing.
I miss him.
I keep hearing strains of George Clinton's Chocolate City (gotta find that damn CD):
"You don't need the bullet when you've got the ballot."
"You jive and game and you ain't been tamed. But you're my piece of the rock, and I dig you CC."
"God bless Chocolate City and it's Vanilla Suburbs."
I know it's presumptuous, but I imagine that the closest thing that approximates it is what my ancestors must have felt on Juneteenth. Please allow me a little hyperbole just for today.
Cliched as it sounds, I never thought I'd live to see this.
Comments
Well put.
And maybe it's just me, but I loved how he used the imagery of calloused hands when describing the work we have to do. As in, "we've all got some skin in this game and I expect everybody to pull his fair share."
As opposed to: "You all just go shopping. Me and Unca Dick will handle this one."
I've got much love for North Cacka-lacky today.
Like a hog in slop.
You know I started to name this post: "I'm All Verklempt" til I saw you'd beat me to the punch.
But verklempt nails it, even 48 hours after the fact.
Me and the drunken Irishman around the way are thinking of throwing a party. Send bail money.