What’s Your Story, USA?

“We believe that the truth of this century cannot be discovered unless its tragedy is explored to the bitter end” (Albert Camus, Camus at Combat, November 3, 1944). Philosopher Camus, laboring in the French Underground, unfortunately speaks directly to this country in 2021. Tragedy must be investigated fully. Horror must be acknowledged without excuse. Truth be told—moving forward requires looking back. So we examine higher education, the Olympics, and Charlottesville, VA. An ever more true story of the past, can’t you hear it? And we keep listening and telling and opening until, one day, the story and truth sync.

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One Ocean Melt, Please

Just before sunrise the next morning, I awoke cradled in carefree joy. The ocean washed away the remaining pandemic residue—the last smatterings of shock and fear released overnight into salt air. The dolphin parade mid-morning melted fourteen months into one deep breath of gratitude. Cleansing, purifying water baptized me. Primordial newness. Infinitely fresh. Always beginning. Romping dolphins played tag. Not it! It.

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"Since Feeling Is First"

Together, woven into a ragtag assembly, our eyes meet naturally and hold. Such sweet bedlam engulfs me for almost five hours. Not one raised voice, not even one—those leaving the tent and unable to get the vaccine nevertheless calmly detail the snafu and proudly show off their new appointment cards. No complaint, not one, from those in wheelchairs or dressed in shirtsleeves.

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Old Music, New Year, Fresh Start

Here’s my December 4 interview on WTJU with host and longtime friend Brian Keena. The music and memories shared in this two-hour show extend a hand for holding tight until the vaccine liberates us all. The songs come from a windowsill radio beloved by Maria and me—my mother June’s tunes the kickiest kitchen spice in my childhood home celebrated in Leaving 1203.

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“Getting Over Myself”

I appreciate my grandmother and father in a spanking new way. Neither talked about past hardship—they did what needed doing. How humbling, their sacrifices. What little I know of deprivation or terror. I must latch on to this worthy perspective. “Getting over myself” seems the least I can do. May empathy always triumph over ego.

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Spreading "Rumors of War"

I was born in Stuart Circle Hospital, named after the striking sculpture of the Confederate general at the circle’s center. Over the years from the backseat of the family station wagon, I anticipated the galloping horse as we got closer, turning to look back at the rider’s plumed hat and cape. My last image was always of the spurs on the heel his left boot, barely secured in the stirrup. Fortunately, mine is not the only imagination captured by this sculpture. Meet Kehinde Wiley’s 2019 re-imagination of another whinnying horse and purposeful rider.

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