I spent a lot of young summer days at the Farmer's Market in Dallas. I'm sure the market was filled to the brim with delicious fruits and veggies but I was there for one reason: sugarcane. Nothing pairs better with a Texan summer day,
A white man entered a church and decided that nine beautiful black lives didn't deserve to see morning. He is not a monster. He is a product. A product of a system driven by hate and a national unable to reach a point of racial reconciliation. A nation that refuses to acknowledge the full humanity of black lives.
There isn't an easy way to eat sugarcane. You have to cut off the woody shell, slice the cane into pieces, chew until you've enjoyed every bit of sweetness, then discard the dull fibers left on your tongue. I learned then that you had to work to find sweetness.
Summer should be the time of ultimate freedom. To laugh and learn. To splash and play. To live and breathe. But I can no longer count on summer to be free. I can no longer count on any season to be free. A black church praising God. A young black boy walking home. A young black girl sleeping in her home. A black man trying to provide. A black woman driving home. All black. All targets.