A BAD GRAIN OF RICE
I hated my Dad.
All kids at one time or another hate their parents
– when punished; denied freedom;
denied the latest!-must-have! toy/fast food/experience.
I did not hate my Dad because he rationed my sugar addiction;
nor because he countered ad industry seduction of my tiny mind.
I did not hate my Dad because he beat me or abused me
(he was a loving, caring father who did neither).
I hated my Dad because he was Black. Continue reading