Why America Sucks in 2019

I'm finally realizing what the living legend, J. Cole meant back in late 2014, when he asserted that “being broke was better [than being wealthy]." It baffled and infuriated me for some time; and still does to some extent.

However, now I realize that it's no laughing matter to have Little Ones in this world, while having little to nothing to leave them in the event of an untimely demise (Heaven forbid).

I sometimes joke and say that electrical engineering (old school [read: ceiling fans; wall mount TVs; and dimmer switches]) is my ideal job; since it's in my blood, essentially.

The reality of the matter is that I want nothing more than to be a teacher, and to instruct my children “in the right way to live, so that they won't stray from it when they’re older,'' Proverbs 22:6.

The crux of the issue is that teachers are having to resort to seeking “generous individuals,” who are successful; and who are in need of “companionship."

Our lives literally revolve around little pieces of paper (or digits on our screens, if you will [ebanking]) that could become completely meaningless Monday morning.

I used to volunteer a considerable amount of time; five days a week, only a couple years ago. It seems like an eternity ago.

At the time, it made sense to put forth an attempt at being a positive role model, that I wished was there when I was coming up. In hindsight, I could have been wiser and made sure that my home was tidied up before trying to save the world.

I literally had Fam battling cancer and I was too ashamed of my powerlessness to pick up the damn phone; or make a twenty minute drive for a visit.

I was broke, but I could've at least mailed a card. This particular family member viewed me as direct offspring.

Even now, I'm just realizing that the aforementioned elder specifically requested to hear from me with some semblance of regularity; and I have failed at that objective.

Sure, I can call SUN and offer to buy lunch, as I promised to years ago; now that my coin purse has a little jingle. Though, I wonder if I will ever be truly forgiven.

There's a Fam Bam happening at my folks place tomorrow, and I can only feel anxiety for all the people that I deserve to be called “Stranger” by. Of course, communication is a two way street; and that's the only feasible reprieve that I can bring to mind at present.

The question remains: How can I hope to be there for the 10 percent that's most important when I'm stuck dealing with 90 percent of my challenges that can only be tackled by racks, stacks, bands, and grands?

I'm in the backyard of the infamous HBCU (Historically Black University or College), Howard University. And yet, being an alumni is a faint notion; without any weight to it. A whole new meaning to “close, but no cigar.”

I have hardly spent any time meditating or praying as of late. Conversely, I find myself pondering about whether or not Love is real; or whether there's a difference between "evil" and "live."

“It's alive!”; it's a boy. No, wait. Pops was a player, so he can count on having to console his brokenhearted daughters.

I guess to tie it all back in: we are in for a bumpy ride. There's a chance that I could be known as the Harriet Beecher Stowe of our time ("the little [person] who wrote the book that started this great war"—Abraham Lincoln [1862]).

Sitting in my dimly lit living room, with gospel music playing in the background; I couldn't care less. Not necessarily because I'm certain it's infeasible.

Rather, it's due to my beliefs that there is little more important than family; and “When they get hungry, ain't a damn thing funny”- Madvillian (2004).