“Will you sit your ass on down!” I heard the phrase so many times, I thought my name was ass at one point, but of course it wasn’t. My mother was the commander of my ass and I was obliged to do as she asked…or else get it hit. I am being politically correct by saying hit, because in those days, we called it a beating. Beatings were the strictest forms of punishment from Colored, Southern (possibly Northern too) parents in the sixties, seventies and maybe even the eighties. I am not sure if beatings were against the law by time, but all I know is when I grew passed them, I knew I had grown up.

For some reason, today is a reflective one, as most seem to be recently. I am fatigued watching the shows on my paid streaming service, where it takes endless series to build a character; it’s all such a waste. I need something that will soothe my soul and take me away from the reality of pandemics and a president that has clearly lost his minds. The alternative is to delve into the depths of my own soul and mind. What I find there can’t be more frightening than the horror-show of reality.

The one thing I have been thinking about more often is family. The majority of them are gone now and it saddens my heart to even think that they are no longer in my life. The pain of not having my parents with me is far worse than any ass whooping I received as a little hell-raiser! What I wouldn’t give for a beating right now; not in a sadomasochistic way. The passage of time puts it all in perspective! The last time I wrote introspectively was in 2016. I lost the last love of my life, Dora Lawrence, on September 1, 2016, and I believe it has just been too hard to put into words. Somehow writing about it makes it that much, more final. Even now, I am having a hard time keeping it together, but as many have, I will write through the tears.

There is a kinship being formed in the USA as I write, and it is one of sorrow, grief and pain. Broken hearts and spirits are bound to linger in the air like the virus, but for many decades to come. I can only hope that the country seeks to change its perspective; only in doing so are we apt to survive. Love needs to breed more love and spread in order for the nation to heal. If nothing else, these past few months have shown one thing, and that is how fragile the life we live.