My Backpack of Bricks

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.

5:30 a.m.

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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