The Joys of Motherhood

Picture shown above of Annie Edwards and Mark Edwards holding their daughter Brenda Edwards  It was a day of remembrance as I walked  through the Bedford Stuyvesant section of Brooklyn where I was raised six decades ago.It was a day of ambivalence as an incongruent feeling of happiness and sadness shrouded my inner being.I began to reflect on those who were once so much a crucial  part of my life and had now either passed away or we simply grew apart delving into life's challenges.I felt the spirit of those souls and smiled. I pictured my friends and myself briskly running down Sumner Avenue and then back down Halsey Street and over to Lewis Avenue playing those childhood games of the times:tag,hop scotch,red light-green light,jumping double dutch rope and simply languishing in those long summer days and chilling winters. I thought about how I had attended the storefront church which ironically was perched on top of a pool hall. I thought about Sunday School and how...

dear white children of the confederate flag.I saw you and heard you loud and clear as a friend and I approached an intersection of Hampton ,Virginia where you sat on the edge of a corner building clutching the pole of your personal  confederate flag determined to hold on to what you consider the strength of your ancestors.Those relentless warriors who resisted the freedom of others. Those irascible warriors who challenged the rights of African-Americans.Those warriors determined to  perpetuate the generational cycle of intolerance,miseducation and violence. There you sat so calm and incredulously proud as those who would pass by could witness your approach to life. I must say when I saw you in your ceremonious defiance,the teacher instinct in me wanted to run over and give you an impromptu history lesson; one that you evidently never received .Wanted to give you my perspective on your ideas. Wanted to tell you that symbols do matter because it is the symbols that g...