Member-only story
Home Sweet Home: The Black Stain on the American Experience
My nostalgia-based take on the American experience for black people, and what can be done to improve race relations.
Tonight tonight/ I’m on my way/ I’m on my way/ Home sweet home ~ Mötley Crüe
Me and my sister grew up in the same house, and yet our lives inside that house were very different.
Though we lived under the same roof, what we knew of the parents who provided that roof was unique to each of us.
And while we laughed, dined, and cried together, we didn’t share everything. A few secrets remain.
A tiny house on Veronica Lane seemed like the world to us. And though we knew the world was bigger than our blue Victorian home, in a weird way, the world was where we’re slept — it was at our doorstep, in our beds, and under the floorboards.
But I want to talk about worlds inside worlds. What about the worlds inside our minds and in our hearts? What of the planets inside beaded earrings? What is the difference between creation and design, as it pertains to how one chooses to live?
I guess what I’m really asking is this: where do you call home, and can you take me to the land where I can enjoy your American experience?
