Jesus wept...

and so have I.


Occasionally I read something so moving, it forces me to write, pouring my emotions and thoughts on the page, spewing my realizations and growth for all to see. Seldom do I view something as beautiful and touching as this. When I hear this man say, “I lived through the Great Depression years,” I am touched, eager to learn more about him. What it was like to be a black man at that time. His regrets. His dreams, realized or not. I want to know what it really feels like to live all that time and know that soon your life will end.

When he speaks, my ears perk, my inner intellectual simmers down and my soul wants to feel his energy and drink from his fountain of wisdom. I want to ask him questions about what I should do at 25 that he did or didn’t do. I want him to teach me how to really be a lady in the purest sense of the word. Want to hear tales of his fortitude, anecdotes of his childhood. I want guidance. Yes. When I hear this man speak, I want his guidance so that I may live a prosperous life. So that I may find someone to be with for 69 years and love her the way he loves his late wife.

He speaks and I just want to listen. No comments of relation. No comparison of the times. I just want to hear this man speak and teach. I just want to learn. I will sit in silence while he thinks, relishing in his presence, forbidding myself the urge to fill it or the lack of sound to feel awkward. I just want to soak his thoughts up as he thinks them, open myself to pick up on his wave lengths.

I wish I knew this man for I think it would make me better woman. Better person. Simply better.

Barack 08