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Sympathizer. Empathizer. Writer. Realist. My space is not a place for comfortablility. IG/Twitter/ FB @MishasThyme

One of the toughest things about being a Black woman is knowing when, and having the courage, to point the finger in the opposite direction. As my grandmother used to say, “your finger points both ways. Never forget that.” She was right, but it takes a lot of learning, growing, maturing, thinking, hurting, digesting, realizing, and sometimes humiliation before many of us can get our finger to point inward instead of outward.

This week I had to do just that. Although I had been working on the direction of my finger for a while, little by little on my own…

Why President Biden Should Not Pardon Trump

Image courtesy of Pako Maksim, Adobe Stock Images

I have enormous respect for former FBI Director James Comey. He is a Republican. He is a father, a devoted husband, and a man I consider a patriot. However, he is not without fault, as we can all recall from the Hillary Clinton email fiasco that continues to haunt the country to this day, still, with no significant purpose other than to deflect and distract. He is also not without integrity, on which many of us can agree after reading his book
A Higher Loyalty, (2018). …

Developing Empathy in My Three Year Old Toddler

Image courtesy of Tamiya Hall

He was a different kind of baby, and I can say that confidently.

I’ve given birth to three boys who are now in their early and late twenties. Child rearing was pretty typical with my older boys. They experienced colic and ear infections. They enjoyed impromptu tours of the kitchen cabinets, fished tissue paper (and a bunch of other gadgets) out of the toilet, and of course woke up in the middle of the night to yell in such a way that the neighbors could have questioned, rightfully so, my young parenting skills. …

How my dad’s final goodbye became the best gift he ever gave me

Image courtesy of Hookmedia

Death is always there, hovering over and around us, waiting patiently, while we pretend like it doesn’t even exist. Denying death powers our own sense of security, as false as that sense may be. We think that we know what life is and what it is not. We firmly believe we can control what is going to happen, and what will not. Until the day Death shows up and says,
“Hey, about that whole time thing … ”

For me, Death showed up twice. She had a long-overdue date with my father.

The first time was on the afternoon of…

Here’s how we make this marriage thing work.

Samuel B.

I like to believe that no one gets married thinking they will end up in divorce court, but divorce, unfortunately, happens. I‘ve been through it twice. The first time I was 20. The second time I was 37.

My first marriage taught me what not to do. My second marriage taught me what not to be.

After the failure of both, I developed an exhilarating sense of independence. For the first time in my adult life, at the age of 37, I could live by my own rules. I answered to no one. I did what I wanted to do…

by Camisha Broussard

“The way to a man’s heart is through his stomach.” Well I’m no man, but that is the one characteristic I share with many of them. I love food, all kinds. From junk food to Italian food to soul food to any food, I am truly an equal opportunity foodployer!

Eating, and especially eating with those that we love, is such a seamlessly surreal experience. Many of us never bother to put into words how joyous, complete, nurturing, and inspiring it is to share a meal with the ones that we love. We merely do as we…

by Camisha Broussard

When I was eight years old my favorite aunt, before I actually knew a good-hearted person from one not-so-much, took me to a cafeteria-style restaurant in the heart of Chicago’s Hyde Park. It was pretty basic.

Attached to a string of businesses that extended the entire block, beginning with a vinyl record shop, which sat on the corner, a Benetton clothing store immediately next to it, and a classy liquor store that I was never allowed to enter, was the South Side neighborhood favorite. Its lengthy awning extended toward 53rd street, beautiful, big, and bright, with the…

In December of 2019, I was ending the semester with my freshmen composition students and I shared, with a few student stragglers, that I wanted to learn how to sew. When I was 9 years old my grandmother gave me her sewing machine. I never touched it, and eventually she took it back. I’d always wanted to learn how to sew, but also always lacked the discipline and commitment to do so. I admitted this character-flaw to my students. That’s important to me. To share with them that I too, a professor, also have challenges that impede my success. Often…


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