Pastor Dad

            I have never been colorblind. When you grow up in a community where there are only white people you tend to notice when someone isn’t white. No exaggeration. There were no bodies other than white bodies! Saying that you are colorblind when you’re really not is kinda cute, kinda silly, kinda self-serving. I learned about black people from, well, black people. I didn’t read an article or see it on the news. I actually met, talked to, and became friends. Here is some of that story.                        The first black person that I remember meeting was Arthur Tyson Jr. (Tookie). We went to high school together and were on the same basketball team. I would say we played on the same team but I didn’t play much. We also had Spanish together. We weren’t really friends because we didn’t really know each other but he was always kind and funny. I ended up not liking him much now that we’re adults. Not because he’s black but because he’s a Steelers fan. We are both older now, a

        As I get older I attempt to pay attention more. Not sure if it is wisdom, the realization of mortality, or some other condition in my brain that causes it but it happens. And as I pay attention I think of times lost, forgotten, and remembered. I try not to go to bed without saying what needs to be said to whoever it needs to be said to. Not bad things, or accusatory things, but things like, “Thank you”, “I appreciate you”, “I love you”. The bad, accusatory, and difficult things I try to pray a few days about before opening my pie-hole!                         So with all that said because it needed to be (see what I did there?), I come to something that needs to be said. I need to tell you about someone. No, really, I need to. 27 years ago this past weekend I met her. To spare you the time of reading a documentary, we got married 27 years ago this coming February. She was, and still is, shy and doesn’t like crowds. She shrinks in the face of a crowd to just a comfortable p

When I was young I don't remember getting offended. I'm confident that I didn't even know what the word offended meant! I remember getting upset. I remember getting my feelings hurt. I even remember getting mad. I guess I was offended and didn't realize it. What my parents modeled was very simple. Change what you can. Get over what you can't.  And if I chose to try and change something, I had to do so appropriately. For example, if I didn't like dinner, I was welcome to fix dinner the next evening myself. But, I was not to complain about the dinner that my mom or dad had worked to give me. I was not allowed to not eat the dinner that was prepared for me that I didn't earn or deserve. I could not, "sit out" or "kneel out".  In my home, I was not allowed to disrespect someone else and therefore offend them just because I was offended. Thus the problem in our great country. I'm offended as a white person so I go out and offend a