Journals
Walk with us as we open our doors. Turn the keys. How did each of us come to be? Who are we and why?
- Read our stories.
- Share your own.
- It is never too late to learn from our past, to better understand the present, and to build the finest of futures.
I, Racist
What follows is the text of a “sermon” that I gave as a “congregational reflection” to an all White audience at the Bethel Congregational United Church of Christ on Sunday, June 28th. The sermon was begun with a reading of The Good Samaritan story, and [...]
The Soapbox: When Black Children Aren’t Welcome In White Spaces
Many a Black child has that moment when they learn that certain White spaces are off limits to them. That not only are such spaces unwelcoming, but they can possibly be dangerous. The Black teenagers who attempted to attend a pool party on the White side [...]
An Open Letter to My White Grandfather
I've started this letter five times and deleted it five times.∗. Even though we’ve never met I’ve known you all my life. I learned you existed from a letter addressed to someone else. A few months ago, my mom told me you wanted to meet me [...]
Gone, Daddy Gone
I was four when my mom sat me on the washing machine to explain the situation. Once she was sure I understood, she concluded, “I know how you feel, I don’t have a daddy either.” “But your daddy didn’t want to leave,” I replied “He [...]
I Will Not Be That Black Person You Need Me To Be
We are in the midst of another cycle of oppression boiling over into the streets. In Baltimore, protests have erupted over the death of Freddie Gray who died a week after being arrested by police and suffering a broken spine. Protesters took to the streets [...]
When Talking About Race Upsets Your White Mother
My mom has the cheery demeanor, moral sensibilities and lingo of a Leave It To Beaver episode. “Don’t be such a sourpuss,” she scolds. “Have you ever smoked a doobie?” she inquires. “Oh, that is just terrific!” she exclaims. My mom is what I’d like [...]
My Name is Carrie, and I Medicate My Son
My 10-year-old son has autism. And we give him anti-anxiety medicine every day. If someone had told me fifteen years ago — back when I was a smart, chic, kind of fit twenty-something newlywed — that my new husband Joe and I would one day give our child a [...]
My Friend Died in a Police Van. That Could Have Been Me – if I were Black
My friend Hanuman was cremated two weeks ago, his ashes now sit in a wooden box on his parent’s alter. The cause of his death is still being investigated, but we know he died shackled to a bench in the back of a prison van. [...]