I remember being told and believing that a reality star could never win the highest elected office in our nation. After it happened, I closed the curtains in my house and stayed behind them for a few days inconsolable.

I remember being at an election party just days before and leaving early. Not a single word spoken from the front seat on the drive home. It would remain that way until I could conjugate enough words with enough meaning to caption this moment in time.

The events that followed I liken to a bandaid being perpetually snatched off a sore. Day in and day out. No room for healing. I am not alone.

I study how others treat their sore from that day. Played out in satire, memes, caricatures, swears, jokes, admonishments, and ridicule. I guess this temporarily pacifies the immediacy of the insult they feel.

His snatching back of the bandaid not only exposes that sore but allows the infection to spread. On his watch, it unearths permissive bigotry, prejudice, disdain, sexism, hatred, intolerance, and violence from every corner of our nation. It reveals the progress we imagined among us was simply disguised as a sleeping giant. Left largely unchecked, the infection is spreading. But then again, the fish rots from the head down.

The other thing about this snatching back is what it reveals about America to outside spectators. Those watching have so far been complicit, but even that is slowly changing. Now they too have formed a chorus of laughter against us or at least against him. They see what we feel. They can’t escape notice of our nation’s slippage toward darker times in our history.

Quietly at first and as not to be disparagingly singled out, they come to realize that the emperor has no clothes. And so has he, yet he must pretend the crowd came to see him and all is well.

A youthful voice in the crowd yells what everyone knows. The emperor has no clothes. That yell is exposed through its vote. No meme, no taunt, no satire needed. That vote speaks for itself. The chorus is now their collective vote.

And through this very act, the healing begins anew.

Those that know me well know that I do not watch TV unless it is news. That said, most of my "current events" comes from the news. I know little else. Really behind on all things pop culture. From the news I learned of what happened at the GRAND SLAM. For anyone sensitive, you should keep scrolling FB and stop now and any further reading of this post.

Know that I very rarely regret anything I have ever said to anyone. I mostly regret that they were unable, unwilling and/or unready to hear it.

I don't follow any sports. I do follow Serena. I follow what I pick up on in reading articles or see on the news. I met her father once. I wrote about that too. From meeting him it is not hard for me to see from where she gets her grit.

What transpired on the court and during the ceremony do not surprise me one bit. I saw her daddy's temper and I saw her compassion for others that followed.

Now this part. The coaching rule at the Grand Slam sucked in duplicity. It reeked of sexism and was emblazoned with powerism. I do not believe it had to do with race. I do believe this male umpire could not muster the idea of being yelled at by a woman. I believe the very act reached him at levels that instigated a primitive strike back. I sensed he could not fathom the very act of this powerful woman pushing back, standing her ground and defending her virtue, integrity and reputation.

Had a male player done the same, and they have plenty of times, this umpire would have cast warnings or threat of repercussion.

Men must come around to the fact that we live in a new day and are raising a new generation of female. There are Serenas everywhere. And once you birth one, she cannot be put back in the bosom.

We are readying ourselves for a new revolution of strength and position. I think someone should warn the umpire that like Serena, we are just getting started.

We are fully awake! And that is not a bad thing. Being silenced is not an option on or off the court.