Our Black skin is the source code for your vitriol, your hate.

It is your rationale for denying us equal rights, protections and privileges under the law.

But now you seek to berate us for gathering together to celebrate our Black African heritage, our overcoming the legacy of slavery and oppression, and presently micro-aggressions designed to cast you as hero, us as villains.

Your phishing for a way to get under our Black skin is laughable.

Hearts, minds and souls rife with fragility.

When Black people gather, we’re not seeking your approval, your disdain, or even your permission.

We’re just leaning on each other, now more than ever, for the love and support that the unenlightened few among you have historically denied us.

What you fail to acknowledge is you are even welcome in these spaces, our Black Spaces.

But don’t think we’re going to bite our tongues to make you feel comfortable.

Our struggle is real.

Narratives of Black pain and suffering at your hands will be told.

Since 1619, we have been the arbiters of unconditional love and neighborly compassion.

Wholly committed to attaining our inalienable rights to life, liberty, the opportunity to pursue happiness.

We’re now looking inward, ignoring your mythological color scheme, so we can work collaboratively with like-minded others to perfect our imperfect union

(c) Copyright 2026 by Jeffery A. Faulkerson. All rights reserved.

Commemorating my father, Edward Allan Faulkerson, who passed away on Friday, October 2, 2026.

When I received word of your passing, I must admit, it hit me like a ton of bricks.

The life that we shared was filled with more hits than misses because we always made our way back to center.

But now you are gone.

Opportunities to explore our shared history only existing with the temporal beings bearing our surname.

I, we, must now move on, confident that you’re standing with us from there while we are here.

But what does that even mean – you being there, us being here?

I know there is a God, and I know he is the one who called you home.

But I selfishly question God for summoning you in his time and not mine.

We had agreed to live life forward, not backwards, focusing on the things that made you you and me me.

No sense harping on the unchangeable past when the future is there for the making.

I laid my head on my pillow last night, restless, but assured that the sun will rise on us in the morning.

But today, we lay your body to rest, anticipating that moment when we will see you again.

We know you’re holding court with God and his angels, the disciples and all the other biblical saints.

You became that guy, the one who relates well with others.

You also became the father I always wanted through the love you showed my wife, son and me.

But I also appreciate the fact that you are the progenitor that allowed our mothers to birth or adopt your children, children who have gifted you with grandchildren and great grandchildren who are destined to do great things.

Thank you, Dad, for living life out loud.

Thank you, Dad, for admonishing me to apply myself when my ascent faltered.

More than anything, Dad, thank you for being APOLOGETICALLY YOU.

(c) Copyright 2026 by Jeffery A. Faulkerson. All rights reserved.