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The brothers began to show up in parks (mine was Druid Hill Park) with congas and bongos. These marathon jam sessions would often feature poets and that’s when I first saw a poet named Gil Scott Heron in 1973 (I recently discovered he was working on his Master’s while living in Baltimore).  He was riffing on something associated with Richard Nixon (I would later learn it was the “H20gate Blues”).

Traveling to college, I was such a Sly Stone fan I went to the music store to cop his latest album. While in the store, they were playing “The Bottle” from Winter in America. I would purchase this album and take it back to my dorm. Hearing “The Watergate Blues” took me back to hearing him in the park. “The Bottle”, however, became a signature song for those of us in 1975.

Youth Poetry Slam and Historical Oratory Contest

To say the least, last night was one of those proud moments when one looks upon their people and feels the pride, the girth, and the essence of what it means to be black.

Yes, descendants of a notorious Trans-Atlantic Slave Trade, ever reminded of a struggle immeasurable, tossed to and fro by the winds of hatred and the hands of time – only to emerge stronger, better, more distinguished and ever loving such that future generations will one day look back with pride and determination to carry the ball one more time.

Last night, the now generation did the damn thing with pinpoint accuracy. They sang, they danced, and they raised money. More importantly, they raised spirits.
 

We hold ourselves hostage. We are prisoners of our own free will. We fear judgment, embarrassment, failure, and most of all success.

We’ve stop dreaming. Yes, “It is what it is.” However, the 64 million dollar question is “Does it have to be?”