Being a Black man is a wonderful thing. I love my skin, I love my features, I love our culture, our food and our women.
Being a Black man in America is not as wonderful. It brings its challenges and an additional burden – a weight – that you must carry in your daily activities and interactions. I call it my “backpack of bricks” and it is there from the minute I wake up, until the minute I go to sleep at night. The backpack has many iterations, but the burden is always there.
I wake up early so I can go out for my morning run. At 48 years of age, gone are the days where my weight maintains without effort. It’s 30 degrees outside, so I throw on my sweat pants and hoodie and head out. But the hood on my hoodie stays down – despite the cold…
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