Growing up Christmas was a fairly big deal at my house. When my dad still lived at home it was even a bigger deal. Most Christmases it was just Momma and us four kids. Momma did a really good job at making it our Christmas.

One year it was tougher than most others. We were squeezing to get the juice out of everything, pinching pennies Momma called it. The best part of that Christmas was the soul-food Momma made and the tree. There were just four gifts under there Christmas morning and each was meant to be shared. Those gifts - two skateboards and two small TVs. Momma said you girls share and you boys share. And that was Christmas. Sharing.

I never rode that skateboard even once. The tree was pretty.

One year many years later we bought my son and daughter skateboards. They were more advanced now, wide, decorative, fast, great wheels. Those boards were amongst many many many gifts under the tree. The boards nearly overshadowed by the excess.

They rode those beautiful boards maybe once, twice in threat of a spanking. I think we had three trees that year. That was one of the last times we celebrated Christmas with physical gifts. Santa pretty much knows. They do it differently at their house.

So our family has our own tradition and it does not include a tree, or gift exchanges for ourselves. Our tradition has become about spending time together wherever we may go. This might be Australia, Vietnam, Paris, the Amazon, the Caribbean, Colorado or home in Georgia. Our Christmas is about creating the gift of lasting memories, bonds and connection.

There are no wish lists, no milk and cookies, no naughty or nice.

There is only laughter and tasting double dares and discussions about why we are put here. There are occasional souvenir finds, but on the whole, our Christmas morning is spent with our family being just that, family!

I nearly always find a way to cook.

And this bond, this sharing is the best tradition I can offer. Momma would be proud.

Hello. I recently saw an interview that I mostly agreed with where you spoke of owning your truth. You said without that you will never grow, never know the best part of you. I am paraphasing because our approaches are different. Your words were peppered with approaches I usually avoid. Nonetheless, for those who could hear your intended words you created a teachable moment. For that appearance you were paid $10,000 under what you called a lasting decade-old Omarosa brand. What I am about to share is free. And it is also my truth.

There are so many fragments of ourselves that we deny for reasons only we know. Fragments that we shove to the back of our black consciousness. We appear to fear the very life behind them as if found out would make us less than. Their viability is ignored, shoved into an oblivious state of being, yes denied. On the surface we display an okayness with the world and with our boldness, our superior attitude and ability to out talk or outwit others. Our true and more intended essence that lies beneath is held hostage by none other than our confused selves. Secretly we curse that part of us that blocks our greatest blessing. We have a scared and cowardly side, but on the outside we curse others, especially those who recognize our tipping point. That point of truth that we are no better than they are. No better than those we pretend we exist to help.

We allow ourselves to take refuse in a somber state, refusing to listen to a voice inside us that puts the brakes on our stupid ways and if told in truth our satisfaction in convincing ourselves we must be better than them because how else could we have arrived at such a wonderful eltist space.

We keep others at a safe distance hoping not to be completely found out, exposed for our hyprosy as we claim to be "that one" selected to fix broken systems in our community. We tell ourselves quite convincingly that no one else can do it better, faster and with greater success. So we sit frozen swearing a not so quiet swear toward those who look like us and those who do not.

On rare occasions they fight back and when they don't we mistaken thier silence for complicity. They must be jealous or unable or ill equipped to keep up. It can't be that our actions have become inconsequential, long dismissed as self-serving, embarassing and yes annoying to those around us. We can't see that their silence is our gift. Being exposed by a community that looks like you as someone who is completely inconsequential would sting no matter the front you try to put on it.

We become our own worst enemy. It is not the fault of others on the battlefield that our victory has eluded us. Not at all. It is the fault of the soldier within. That part of us that refuses to believe that just because we sit at a bigger table does not mean we were invited there to feast. We convince ourselves yet again that we are special or chosen or the best suitable to win the battle ahead.

And then when we fail to score, not even punted or kicked a long shot we wonder why no one is cheering or left in the stand. What they remembered, those in our community is the effort behind our try. We want to claim our victory yet did nothing of what it takes to finish.

So as we leave the field defeated we watch as our community sits our final quarter out, waiting to see how "we" do it. And for what?

Now Omarosa, hear this from someone who chose to say WE versus YOU throughout in hopes that you might think I was talking about someone else. I mostly needed you to read this to the end.

So if you want something, then put your personal skin in the game. No matter what "that" is. We in the crowd just want to see your genuine pursuit of it for all.

And here is the big secret untold.......even when you came up short......many like me were rooting for you...........we just wanted to see the truth behind your TRY FOR US ALL!

So now my sister I leave you with this. And I must leave you to walk this out on your own.

Love us unconditionally; love yourself the same

Live your personal best

Show us you exist with a quality of excellence in your life

Remind yourself that no matter what ...... WE MUST...and WE TOGETHER!

Don't pawn "that" off on tomorrow. Don't hide behind that next $10,000 that may never come. Know that not all kisses are good kisses.
Become the song you sing about. Transcend the character you read about. Realize that voice you dream about!

No charge. Save your money for the work ahead. LW

In Sight

All she ever wanted was to be noticed. Not in the way you might think, though that would be nice too. She wanted to be seen. She wanted to know the universe anticipated her arrival each day. That who she was and brought with her was appreciated and valued in their sight.

She never wanted to be someone others made exscuses for. If only she did this or that. She grew tired of the way others seem to tolerate her voice in the room. Her daring to stand their toe toe with them. Why not she would tell herself. Why the hell not?

But they kept missing her, seeing through her, waiting for her to pause so they could skip over her and move on to someone else. Someone more deserving they likened. That someone in a tie with bass in the voice.

And while they were doing that. All that ignoring, all that pausing, all that ignorant apologizing. Each time they kept her out of sight, she was preparing her insights.

She was preparing insights that shape policy and laws and annual statement bottom lines. Insights that change communities and paid attention to those most out of sight and overlooked.

And whle they were plotting how to keep her busy and complacent but mostly out of the way, she broke through that jibberish.

And her insights made her a force to be reckoned with everywhere. All while they stoodby just in time to look up and ask, “Who is that and where did she come from?”

In her new position she kept them out of sight and without apology.

http://www.liveyourawesomelife.com/living-your-aweswome-life-one-oops-at-a-time/in-sight

Get the "F" Out of My Face

That is exactly what she said. Get the F$%K out of my face. (This story retold with permission).

They had been discussing as a group the subject of genders/sexes. At its core how many genders/sexes are there and are the terms gender/sex the same? His version was there are two genders/sexes simply because there are that many reproductive organs. Furthermore, he argued the term gender and sex are synonymous. The red head felt differently and at first it appeared they learned from each other. Neither completely persuaded by the other's argument. But it was enlightening all around. At least he thought.

That night he went home and did his own research, quite a bit of research. And as it turned out saw the merits of some of her most passionate points. Though he had not completely come around he had leaned in her direction at least enough to acknowledge how she had awakened him to a higher bit of learning on the subject. It appeared it seems that the subject of gender was complicated.

As he approached her with olive branch in hand, she turned toward him mere inches from his face and in front of everyone yelled GET THE "F$%K OUT OF MY FACE! He did not have a chance to say a word. He was stunned, hurt, embarrassed and completely taken aback. It was the first time in his young life two things had happened. One, someone swore at him and two, someone did not like him. They had been friends less than two weeks. The red head made sure she took their posse, all of them with her. He would be left alone to figure future things out on his own.

He came to me for advise. Mom what should I do? I told him this.

You get the F#$% out of her face and you stay the F#$% out of her face. She was losing that argument trust me. She did not know how to persuade you or others through intellect. She was drowning in yours. Count yourself lucky that she showed you who she is at such an early stage of friendship.

You feel like you lost all your friends in one clean swoop but trust me son, everybody in that posse saw how you conducted yourself and when they circle back around to you now or whenever, it will be up to you to decide where they fit in your beautiful life. Carry on my incredible son. You rare gentle specimen. Keep your heart held high. Be true to your truth. Do not apologize for being the special bright star you are in this life.

Most of all, remain the F out of her face!

That Lie

He loved going home to see her. And in some ways he dreaded it too. It was hard to unsee the way she looked at him. It was not a judgement look, it was more of a wasted time glance and then that glance away gesture. He never got used to that look but then he understood it too. But he kept going home to see his momma every Sunday. And every Sunday after that.

She looked how most weary hard working mommas looked. Just beyond her sadness were these fine lines of happier times creating half crescents just outside of each of her charcoal black eyes. Black pearls he liked to call them.

On this Sunday, he had come to do something he swore he would never do again. He had come to ask for her help. He had asked so many times before, each time saying this is the last time. And yet fast forward 20 something years he was there again carrying his ask in his body language and in his dry mouth.

And he asked her too. Momma this is the last time. Can you 'loan' me some rent money until I get on my feet? Don't worry Momma I will get it back to you. I am keeping track. You will get it all back plus interest.

This time Momma did something he was not expecting. Something he had not planned for at all. She started with her glance that he was sure of but then she stood frozen in place. She looked to the sky, wiped her callous hands on her apron and gently walked out of the room. She did this.

She returned a few moments later with a book. She handed it to him with the words, I can offer you this. This I can give you. It was her well-used Bible. And with that she left the room again.

He sat for a spell then he too left.

The next Sunday and Sunday after that he returned as usual to visit his Momma. She had the same glance. It was soft and it was sad. It was the wasted time glance he had seen so many times before. When she said goodbye to him she asked the same thing of him, "Have you read your bible?" And each time he said yes. Every single time he looked her in those black pearl eyes and said yes.

Months later, I think 3 months later, he was at his wits end again. Again he asked her for money. Her response, "I gave you what I had to give. The best I had to offer. Have you read your Bible?" He responded yes.

That night, he found himself alone. In the dark of night and just beyond his reach he saw it. He saw the Bible. Out of sheer desperation he reached out and picked it up. It felt so unfamiliar. Slowly he opened the pages. As he opened to nowhere certain a piece of paper fell to the floor. He bent down to pick it up and immediately recognized the handwriting. It read, "Son your lies will keep you away from this book or this book will keep you away from your lies." And tucked throughout the pages Old and New were twenty dollar bills in the hundreds.

Okay I admit I was apprehensive at first. Not because I don't love a new great adventure, but because I like having control of my environments. And outdoors and control don't exactly go together in the same vision board. But I stepped out there one recent Labor Day weekend with my 14 year old son and my bestie, Kimberly. Later they would tell me they were even more apprehensive than me. They said concerned because I come up with a lot of unvetted half-baked ideas.

We arrived to a place just two hours north of Atlanta. I found it by googling North Carolina adventures. We were greeted by Tim the owner. His joy echoed from across the oasis. Before we could fully take in the true essence of the place CAROLINA RIVER RANCH, Tim had us feeling quite at home. He kept saying, "You will love it here, I just know it!" I asked him to call me De De, and he did. I heard De De a lot. We settled in among the 12 GLAMPING sites complete with private parking spot. My son had his own tent just a few feet from ours. We all had the most amazing comfort overlooking the Tennessee river. Tim had thought of everything. And LOVE does not begin to describe what we experienced. All the comforts of indoors while outdoors. We had a stainless steel kitchen, beautiful communal stone fire pit, luxurious mattresses and bedding, and extremely well thought out tile bath house. Yes we had electricity too.

Best of all we had Tim. He was gracious. He was happy. He was extremely interested in treating all his guests like family. He gave us options of things to do at the glamping site or a few miles away. We took full advantage of hiking and fishing, and kayaking and tubing. He provided all the equipment and even dropped us off at the perfect place to come down the river. He was there waiting with a newly set fire when we returned to camp.

Our time at Caroline River Ranch was like none other. My son Michael is already planning the second trip. I can't wait to return. Knowing Tim is there determined to create a lasting experience is all the incentive I need.

De De will be back with a few friends soon! Www.carolinariverranch.com

The Elephant In The Room

I am over here minding my business, pretending not to listen to what I have been listening to. Since I have been listening to you intently for so long, perhaps indulge me a moment to listen to me.

Ordinarily I would continue being the silent elephant in the room but from where I stand, there is plenty enough shallow silence among you to go around.

There is much silence on both sides, on both sides. Black and White.

So here I go!

What the hell are you people doing to yourselves? What are you allowing to be done to you? Where I come from, when you don't like something you do something.

When you sense danger, feel fear, smell a threat, you don't invite it over for play. You don't invite it in with complacency. And you don't turn against your brother.

You don't pretend it is not out there plotting against you. You have an instinctive obligation to protect your tribe, to cover your young. You don't run away carrying only your belongings.

You send warning cries to all the other creatures out there sharing the same terrain even to those who don't look like you and you don't always get along perfectly with. You stand your tallest together.

You sound this cry because every decent living thing around you depends on each other for their very survival.

You must protect each other from evil forces that came with a combative intention. Those elements that came to destroy you and turn you on one another.

I am just an elephant, but dammit I can see and hear. Your tribe is lost pretending it will get better with silence.

If you disagree, become constructively disagreeable.

If You Like Your White Friends You Can Keep Them

I contacted David for a favor. I needed a centralized space to host my $15,000 Small Business Giveaway on a Saturday. David owns a very successful Buckhead located ad agency, THE PARTNERSHIP Tpi Atlanta. His response, "Stop by for the keys."

David and I have been friends and business associates since 1996. David and I are friends with very similar backgrounds. David grew up dirt poor in North Carolina and me in Utah. We pulled ourselves up by the bootstraps.

As friends, we have lived through many milestones in each other's lives; birth, death, sickness. Once when I thought I might have cancer, my freind personally started a national prayer circle for me that prayed without cease for weeks. David prayed for me from the same church bench each day at the same time. Likewise I have been David's friend through a tragic accident, graduation and marriage of his only child. David and his wife Susan are friends, my friends.

It is hard to become my friend. I cherish the term so profoundly. Those I call friends I love and I know love me. These are people I can talk to about anything without penalty or judgement. My friends are those who don't measure me by who is smarter, richer, wiser, whiter.

My friends are approachable, caring, and curious. We don't allow where we came from determine where we can get to together. If we don't know something about the other or the other's culture, we ask.

So I am here to say, I cannot and will not standby and allow small-minded damaged-soul people try to drive a wedge between me and my white friends.

I like my white friends and by God I plan to keep them!

Let the hatemongers find someone else to pick on. We are doing just fine without you.

I remember growing up when I did something dumb and got caught doing it with someone, my mother would say, "If your friends jump off a roof are you going to jump off a roof too?" I did alot of dumb things. I mean not "you are going to jail dumb", more like, "you are blocking your blessing dumb." As it turns out, the dumbest things I did, I often did alone. Alone with my thoughts, I realized how dumb they were. One dumb thing, among many unnamed, was lowering my currency to be accepted in relationships.

The older I got, the smarter I became. I became smarter because I couldn't stand facing my dumb choices in the mirror.

I turned a corner toward smart when I started placing currency on my actions. The higher the currency, the greater distance I put between myself and dumb actions and myself and dumb acting people. I practice that distance to this day.

I define personal currency as a quality of being accepted by others. You don't establish it or build it by being one thing one day and another thing another day. You don't establish it or build it by being one person around this group and another person around this group.

You establish and build your personal currency by being who you are no matter where you find yourself. I find if others do not accept me then it was not my actions they did not value it was the truth and power of my currency they were missing.

My only daughter is about to leave home as are alot of young people leaving home for the first time. If I can share anything with these young adults it would be, protect your currency. Once you erode it, once it is devalued, it takes a significant amount of effort and sometimes a lifetime to get back. And you will walk by mirrors everywhere you find yourself.

Above all, others need to know what they are getting from you and you need to be willing to standby what you give or don't give as dictated by your personal currency.

I am not an economist. But I am also not stupid either. I have something called the smell test, and until now I have not been using it like I should against one of the most over-used metrics I have heard in the past 3 years. Some call it an anthem being sang about the African American people within business and social circles everywhere. I am not here to fight or to throw cold water in anyone's face. I am not going to populate this post with a lot of sources. Because like me, you will have to make up your own mind and yes do your own research. If you do the research, you might believe you. You do not have to believe me. I am not mad at anyone, but don't be mad at me either. I am just a concerned messenger who will need an informed army to get anything tangible done. I hope to bring a dose of enlightenment.

There is a big lie going on. A lie perpetuating that we the people are onto some bit of economic greatness. A new emergence of leverage able wealth. That we are this power base of buying power worth $1.3 trillion dollars and growing. That we are about to be a force to be dealt with. That we have arrived. This number and its singers are using either fool-hearted trickery or pure ignorance in the choir, but either way, we the people, need to know the story behind the numbers. The real power is in the information. How you use that information is the leverage.

Let's start simply. African Americans are the poorest minority. We are the least likely minority to be employed, least likely to be part of the labor force. We have the highest unemployment rate in the country hovering around 7%. While we are growing in influence, this is mostly happening in households earning above $75,000. Our "power" is highly concentrated. Would it surprise you to know that 90% of our cultural wealth and earnings comes from just 20% of our households? There are a lot of our group being left out of any semblance of a new emergence. I could go on to talk about the gap in wage earnings and white-collar penetration but that would take me too far away from the target subject at hand. Let's save that discussion for another time shall we?

At this point I need to define "buying power" or you might know it as "purchasing power" Here is where you might want to grab your calculator and your spectacles.
Buying power first of all is not a economic term or a metric used by the census. It is a marketing term. A term used to lure unsuspecting demographics to consumption. (I almost want to type this twice.) Buying power is consumer trickery. Oh, and that supposed $1.3 trillion in "buying power" includes borrowed debt. And we black people love to use credit. We owe a lot of people. We have the lowest net worth versus any other group by a measurable mile.

Some great many people believe $1.3 trillion in buying power suggests the money we spend every year. Far far far from the truth of it. It actually has little to do with spending or at least agree that it is a hell of a bit more complicated than that. Do me a favor. Take just these numbers.

Take $1.2 trillion to be conservative (that is 12 zeros) and divide that number by the May 2017 estimated employed / non-institutionalized working African American adults of 32 million. Now when your eyes pop out of your head, you will quickly realize that not everyone you know is spending $37,500 a year on anything. And know for this number to hold up and add back up to $1.2 trillion, we would all have to be spending that!

So before we all run out to Macey's on a shopping spree, let's come back to reality and see this for what it really is. Yes, our economic power base is growing. Yes, mass media and mass America is taking notice. Yes, they want our disposable income. But don't get tricked into believing they are helping us get rich.

Consumption is designed to take what you have not restore you, not grow you and sure as hell not check back on you with you are flat broke.

We will learn but we must come together and share what we already know. While consumption may be a level playing field the hard-earned opportunity to earn it is not. We are stronger together. Make up your mind.

See you at work.

I told him I will make you a deal. You use me the way you want to but I must be able to be who you created me to be. If we do this, whatever this is, we do it together. That will mean God, you will not always be pleased in your creation. But always remember, you created me and I think you knew what you were getting.

A few months before my mother passed from earth I went to her bedside. I did not even know she was sick. I knew she was sickly but I had no idea she was about to die. Neither did she. She told me, if anything were to ever happen to me, take care of your sister. I had two older living brothers. She named my sister. This was in July. By October, she was gone. Just like that. In February of the next year, I moved my only sister and her young family from California to Georgia. I bought them a small house, filled it with furniture, filled the refrigerator with food and then I stood this deeply troubled soul in front of the fridge and told her unapologetically, "The next time it gets filled, you will fill it." I was tough and generous.

A few years later my sister would buy her own house and to this day, keeps it full of food and joyous laughter.

One of the things I was created to be is generous. I was also created to be very tough on people, including myself. People wonder where I get it from. I am evenly split, tough from my mother, generous from my daddy. Now back to God.

I am preceded in death by my mother at age 55, father age 73 and two brothers age 45 and 54 respectively. There remains my only sister and myself. My mother lived much of her adult life troubled, likely even depressed. As I lost the only close family I knew, I got to the place where I made a promise with my creator. I said, only you know how much I can take. I have always tried to be strong. You might know how much more I can take but I don't. So I need you to promise me something. "Keep me off those ropes of depression." And if you do and I can be strong, I will show the generosity you poured into me. I will shine like the angel you created.

But if you don't, I will fall. And then God you will spend a lot of my wasted time putting me back together again. I do not want to spend our time together putting me back together. Use me Lord, but don't let me hit those ropes. Keep me tough and keep me generous.

And he has, and together we are building something amazing together. That something amazing is my life. A life centered on giving and letting God take care of the ropes.

http://www.liveyourawesomelife.com/living-your-aweswome-life-one-oops-at-a-time/the-tension-i-keep-with-god

As I prepare to return to the U.S. and because this is my first time blogging since being away, I have a couple of way over yonder observations. Let me begin by saying, I have been traveling away from home for a long time. So what I am about to say, I say with a bit of gray hair sprinkled throughout. In sum total I have been to about 38 unique countries and if you count repeating them and traveling from city or province or village or state within them, then I have seen a lot over the years.

Travel has changed me, mostly for the better. Travel makes you tolerant, more sympathetic, and appreciate of others. In my case, especially for those who have less means. If you travel enough and far enough from home you will know exactly what I mean. Once a child in South Africa living with no inside plumbing asked my daughter how many bathrooms she had at home. I begged her with my eyes to answer one. We have more.

The two observations I want to make about travel are these. The first is this. I have encoutered scores of times, people with far less than me who appear much happier. I have tested this over and over and over. Whether in Egypt, Morocco, South Africa or Bali. I have seen pure joy in others who don't have a lot. They seem to get their joy from their environment and from the bonds they have with their family. I envy this. I try always to bring a bit of this joy making home with me. I try to get joy from living joyously and by sharing myself joyously.

The second observation is a bit more mind boggling. The second observation is the fact that no matter where I go outside of the US, the country where I end up...They always seem to know much more about America than we know about them. More of our history, past and present. More about our politics sometimes. They seem much more studied on our affairs than I can begin to know about theirs. I do not think I am alone.

This is particularly true when I am in Europe. Europeans run circles around my knowledge. I am only speaking for self. Their general curiosity far exceeds mine.

So here is a new promise I am making to myself. The next time I leave home, I am going to study up. My inkling is my travel will take on greater significance and I will better understand my role in it. Perhaps become a better teacher and student among those I encounter abroad and at home.

“Why do you go away? So that you can come back. So that you can see the place you came from with new eyes and extra colors. And the people there see you differently, too. Coming back to where you started is not the same as never leaving.”
― Terry Pratchett, A Hat Full of Sky

Happy travels.

http://www.liveyourawesomelife.com/living-your-aweswome-life-one-oops-at-a-time/wayward-traveler-observations

My father was the first male to ever love me. I only knew because he told me sometimes and he showed me always. He called me "Beautiful" a nickname he called me til his death. I learned early and often how a man should treat a woman by the way he instructed me when I came to him for advice and by the ways he looked at me disapprovingly, yet without interfering, when I provoked my thorns to get my way in relationships.

My dad used to ask me hard thought-provoking questions about life, faith, the meaning of things. He was patient with my answers. I know I tested his resolve. He probably thought I should be quieter around men, more adaptive.

Dad only wanted to see me happy and smiling. I know because he told me every single time we were together. He used to wink at me from across the room and mouth, "I am proud of you my daughter." I honestly think he loved to hear himself say those words, "My Daughter."

On my wedding day, I asked my parents for advice. My mother said, "Memorize his social security number so you can always find him. And always save something...just enough that only you know about. An amount that will get you back home from anywhere."

My father had just six words. "Let the man be the man."

I know my dad was happy with my choice in a mate and father to our children. I know because of the way Dad showed interest and love to my husband.

The only signs my dad looked for were my happiness and my smile.

I married my mate on Father's Day 25 years ago.
I do know his social security number, but I never developed a single reason for that stash. Any stash is going toward "our" seeing the world together and our getting home together.

I feel just like a watered flower.

I am not a politician. I have subzero interest in politics. I think the term is apolitical. I am however steadfastly interested in policy. I am mostly interested in policies that affect me or mine. In this writing I will use the word policy loosely. Loosely because my message is less about the policies themselves and more about the impact of policies. In particular as they impact the economic development in the nose bleed section of the bleachers. The disenfranchised section of the bleachers. My goal is to stimulate thinking.

What I want to shine a light on is the emergence of African Americans in leadership positions across the country and how that emergence has not proportionately led to more power or a stronger powerbase for the collective cultural unit. Said differently, we have more Black mayors, Senators, and even most recently a Black president. More people of color in positions of power than any other time in history. Yet, we continue to lag across nearly every institutional metric compared to mass America. To which metrics do I allude? I will name a few; household income, homeownership, salaries, business ownership, college degrees, post graduate degrees and the list goes on.

What this has led me to believe is this. Power without economic leverage is power-less. This leads me to my specific niche of interest, Small Business Ownership. Let's start with the facts. Black businesses make up about 3% of all Small Businesses. Black people are 12% of the US population. Revenue and receipts of Black Owned Business (BOB) lag not only other small businesses as a whole but also other minority owned business including Asian and Hispanic. (SOURCE: Blackdemographics.com). Black businesses are smaller in revenue, are almost always singularly owned and operated, are concentrated in service industries, and are concentrated in just a few states in the nation.

What is the problem with this you ask? Though I could go on for days let me just give a quick regurgitation that I hope will lead to some really new thinking and some really quick action by those in "power". Here goes;

1- With small receipts there is little room for scalability
2- Without businesses in high tech industries, high commodity industries there is no lasting leverage especially in the mass market
3- Without employees, there is no legacy, no cross-pollination, no generational wealth
4- Being so concentrated in a few states there is no growth in voice as a people for our people by our people

The floor is open. I hope those in power realize the frailty of their position. Power is a trick of the mind. True power speaks with the outcomes it has created.

It was 1989. I had been summoned together by my Bison brothers, Lewis Paul Long, Douglas Selby and William "Dollar Bill" Taggart. Summoned because I told one of them I wanted not only to attend Harvard Business School where they currently attended, but I also wanted Douglas Selby to pass the torch to me as President of the most prestigious student club, the African American Student Union (AASU). Most prestigious largely because of its extreme history and extreme budget. The largest budget on campus.

The last time us band of brothers were all together was on the Howard campus just under a decade before.

I remember Doug being most hard on me. I think he had clear foresight into what I was asking  both from the school and out of the club. It would be hard to lead from the helm. He knew that firsthand.

We were after all in a fishbowl. And many in the environment questioned how we got there and expected us to fail. So even before I set foot on that campus they pledged me. They got inside my head and made me declare what I wanted and precisely how I planned to achieve it. Lewis was the most balanced of the bunch, always descriptive and professorial in tone. While Doug was busy conducting a Kamala Harris like deposition on me, often by phone. It was Lewis or Bill who would put me back together after those calls.

Then on one pre-winter day, I was invited for a personal interview with Admissions, the last step in acceptance. The first thing Mr. Selby said upon seeing me is "Where is your makeup? You are only interviewing with the highest selling Mary Kay agent in the history of the company, Gloria Mayfield Banks." Now minutes before my interview, we scrounge around his network putting our hands into bookbags and purses looking for some semblance of makeup we can apply to a face who had never worn any. I can still hear Douglas saying, "I think you need more stuff on your cheeks and more lipstick."

These three guys taught me getting into Harvard was not the hardest part, believing you belonged there was the hardest. They were counting on me not only to get that but be able to convince others of the same should I become president of the AASU. My job was to get all of us out of there. No man left behind. I only had one casualty in my club and I was almost the second.

As president of the AASU, one of the biggest issues I faced was the professors mixing up our names. Calling black people by the same names haphazardly. This may not seem like a big deal to many reading this, but when your grade is dependent on your oral partcipation and your identity is already being called into question among your fellow students, it becomes a very big deal.

At the helm and with my brothers having since graduated, I had to take on this quibble and I did. Head on and with each of these brothers in my head. "Don't back down. Remember why you are here. And most of all, remember what Howard taught us."

Bill was the peacemaker. He was the one I could call day or night and get the truth and the medicine to fight another day.

Lewis went on to do a lot. Well let's just say anything he ever set his mind to. Now he owns a successful art gallery in Harlem. Douglas became that lawyer and is a partner in a prestigious Atlanta law firm. Bill too, took on the world and won. He last held a position as interim President of Morehouse College. And myself? I am a work in progress. Still calling on this band of brothers to check my thoughts and occasionally the application of my makeup.

We will come together again on 6/16/17 to say a final goodbye to the nicest among us, "Dollar Bill". We will miss every inch of his moral fabric. He taught us well.