You Hate Black Women

There was a time when saying, "I like chocolate ice cream," didn't require adding, "...and if you don't then you're a loser."

Somewhere along the way, we lost that.

Today, it seems like nobody is allowed to simply appreciate something anymore. Every compliment has to come packaged with an insult. Every preference has to become a competition. Every opinion has to produce a loser.

It's exhausting.

You can like iPhones without pretending Android users are carrying around calculators.

I can prefer Android without acting like every Apple customer was hypnotized by a glowing logo.

Both phones make calls. Both let you waste six hours scrolling through videos you'll forget by tomorrow. 

Sports fans do the same thing.

Someone says LeBron James is their favorite player.

Instead of saying, "I can see why," somebody immediately launches into a ten-minute TED Talk explaining why Michael Jordan would have beaten him while wearing dress shoes. (By the way, I'm Team Jordan.)

Here's a crazy thought: Maybe LeBron is great. Maybe Jordan is great. Maybe your favorite doesn't become taller because you shrunk someone else.

Music fans do it. Political parties do it. People who like cars, video games, restaurants, rappers, actors, etc.

The saddest example, though, is one I see far too often involving Black men.

A Black man falls in love with a White woman (or anyone who isn't Black). Good for him. Love who loves you, bro.

But then comes the unnecessary part.

Some of those Black men feel compelled to explain their choice by putting down Black women.

"They're too loud."

"They're too masculine."

"They've got attitudes."

"They're impossible."

Really?

If another race of woman makes you happy, great. But what exactly did Black women do to deserve becoming your press conference?

Imagine someone announcing they bought a Mercedes and then spending twenty minutes talking about how terrible BMWs are.

Nobody asked. Nobody cared. Just enjoy your Mercedes and keep it moving. Someone else will enjoy the BMW. Trust me.

If your happiness depends on insulting people you didn't choose, maybe you're not as happy as you're pretending to be.

Here's the part that bothers me most: boys are watching this! They're learning that it's okay to put down all Black women if the one you want doesn't want you (which is usually the case).

Real praise doesn't need victims.

• You don't have to convince me your spouse is amazing by insulting mine.
• You don't have to prove your favorite athlete by disrespecting another legend.
• And you don't have to justify your dating preferences by degrading an entire group of people.

Just like what you like and respect what you don't. It's really that simple.

My wife is black. My mom was black. My grandmothers were black. I love black women. I'm not saying they're better than every other woman. I'm saying they're my favorite. I welcome you to pump up your favorite in the comments if you feel compelled.

But "give me a sister, I can't resist her."

The Bulls, the Lion, and American Politics

One of Aesop's lesser-known fables tells the story of several bulls grazing together in a field. A lion wants to eat them, but as long as the bulls stand united, he cannot attack. Frustrated, the lion spreads rumors and creates distrust among them. Eventually, the bulls separate from one another. Once isolated, they are easily picked off one by one.

Sound familiar? 

Modern politics has become a never-ending exercise in division. Americans are encouraged to view neighbors, coworkers, and even family members not as fellow citizens but as enemies. Political parties, media outlets, influencers, and social media algorithms profit from outrage. The more divided we become, the more power flows to those who benefit from the chaos.

The lion in Aesop's story didn't defeat the bulls through strength. He defeated them through division.

Today's political operatives understand the same lesson. Convince people that every disagreement is a battle, every election is the end of democracy, and every opponent is beyond redemption. Once citizens stop seeing common interests, they become easier to manipulate.

None of this means we should abandon our principles. Bulls don't have to agree on everything to stand together against a common threat. A healthy society requires debate. It also requires recognizing that most Americans want many of the same things: safe communities, economic opportunity, and a better future for their children.

The lion's strategy worked thousands of years ago because the bulls forgot who their real adversary was.

Aesop would probably recognize our politics immediately. The only question is whether we recognize the lesson.

The answer: we do not.

Bad Restaurant Service Doesn’t Excuse Bad Behavior

I was in a restaurant recently and watched a lady act a whole donkey over her order being wrong. Like the server was supposed to pick her sandwich apart to make sure whatever she asked to be added was on it. And despite the server apologizing (and never blaming the cook for the error) the woman went HAM. I'm pretty sure that she left little-to-no tip for having to wait an extra two minutes for her tomatoes or whatever she wanted on her sandwich.

Restaurant service has changed. Pretending otherwise is just performance art at this point.

A lot of servers today seem distracted, undertrained, or overwhelmed. Some are glued to their phones between tables. Some spend more time talking to friends who stopped by than checking on customers. And in many cases, management throws people onto the floor with barely any training and expects everything to run smoothly. Humanity keeps trying to operate billion-dollar industries on “figure it out as you go.” Inspiring stuff.

So yes, customers notice the decline.

But here’s the part people conveniently skip: bad service does not give customers permission to treat servers like slaves.

Some customers walk into restaurants carrying the energy of a king returning to inspect his castle. Snapping fingers, talking down to staff, threatening tips over minor mistakes, acting personally offended because a tea refill took an extra two minutes.

That behavior is ridiculous.

A distracted or inexperienced server is still a human being. Maybe the service is slow because the restaurant is understaffed. Maybe the kitchen is behind. Maybe the server is new and trying not to drown during a dinner rush. None of that excuses terrible service, but it also doesn’t justify humiliation as a response.

The truth is both sides have gotten worse.

Service standards have slipped in a lot of places, while customer entitlement has skyrocketed. And now every restaurant visit feels tense before the food even hits the table.

People don’t just go out to eat anymore. They go out looking for something to complain about. And some can't wait to document it and go live on social media to make things worse.

And somewhere in the middle of all this chaos is a tired server carrying three plates, a frustrated customer waiting on refills, and a manager hiding in the back pretending the Yelp reviews are make-believe. "Civilization" at its finest.

Who All Gonna Be There?

There’s a slang phrase that gets asked almost automatically whenever somebody gets invited somewhere:

“Who all gonna be there?”

Before the date, the time, or even what the event is really about gets a second thought, that question jumps straight to the front of the line.

Now, to be fair, sometimes it’s a legitimate question.

Maybe you’re trying to avoid an ex.
Maybe there’s somebody you truly don’t get along with.
Maybe past experience has taught you that certain combinations of people can turn a peaceful evening into an episode of reality TV nobody asked for.

That part makes sense.

But let’s be honest, most of the time that question isn’t about safety, peace, or avoiding drama.

It’s about measuring the event’s perceived value.

People want to know if the “right” crowd will be there.

Will the popular people show up?
Will there be enough status attached to the room?
Will it be “worth” their time?

In other words, some folks aren’t deciding whether to attend based on the person who invited them.
They’re deciding based on the guest list’s social ranking, like they’re evaluating a nightclub instead of responding to a personal invitation.

And that’s where the common sense part gets lost.

The person inviting you thought enough of you to include you.
Out of everyone they could have called, texted, or told, they thought, I want this person there.

That alone should mean something.

Instead, the first response becomes a quiet judgment: Who else made the cut?

There’s something a little insulting about that.

It subtly tells the host that their invitation alone isn’t enough.
Their presence, their company, and their event only matter if enough “worthy” people are attached to it.

That’s a selfish way to look at relationships.

Sometimes showing up should be about supporting the person who invited you, not auditing the room before you decide if it meets your standards.

Not every gathering needs to pass a popularity test.

Sometimes the real question shouldn’t be “Who all gonna be there?”

It should be: “Do I value the person who invited me enough to show up?”

When Accountability Becomes “Hating” or "Racism"

Somewhere along the way, correction started getting mistaken for persecution.

As a 54-year-old Black man, I come from a generation where being checked for how you carried yourself, how you spoke, or how you presented yourself wasn’t automatically labeled as “hate” or “racism.” Sometimes, it was simply accountability. Not every critique is an attack, and not every consequence is oppression.

Too many young people today have been taught that any pushback against their behavior must come from jealousy, hatred, or bias. If someone questions how they act in public, how they dress for certain environments, or how they speak to others, the immediate response is often, “They’re hating” or "You're being racist against me." 

No, sometimes people are responding to conduct, not identity.

And let’s be honest, the fault doesn’t begin with the youth. It starts with the generation that raised them. Parents who replaced discipline with excuses, structure with friendship, and accountability with endless validation helped create this sense of entitlement. When children are taught they should never be corrected, they grow into adults who think every criticism is discrimination.

Common sense used to tell us that freedom of expression doesn’t mean freedom from consequences. Somehow, that lesson got lost.

Everybody Wants More… But Nobody Wants to Ask Where It Comes From

There’s this quiet lie we all participate in: that there’s always more to go around.

More money. More space. More opportunity. More “next level.”

But nobody wants to admit the obvious truth hiding in plain sight. At some point, “more” stops being created… and starts being taken.

We’re living in a country packed wall-to-wall with ambition. Everybody wants to "level up", but nobody’s asking what happens when millions of people are climbing the same ladder at the same time. Spoiler alert: somebody’s getting pushed off.

And it’s usually not the people making the rules.

Corporate America has mastered this game. They’ll stand on stage talking about “efficiency” and “innovation,” then quietly eliminate entry-level jobs to pad executive bonuses. The same positions that used to give people a starting point? Gone. Automated. Outsourced. Rebranded as “non-essential.”

But those bonuses? Very essential. Funny how that works.

Meanwhile, cities are out here playing real-life Monopoly with their own residents. They’ll slap the word “progress” on a project, tear down neighborhoods, and displace the very people who built the culture they’re now selling back at a premium.

New luxury apartments go up. Property values rise. Tax revenue increases.

And the people who lived there? They get a nice front-row seat… to their own replacement.

We’ve normalized a system where growth often means somebody else loses. But instead of questioning it, we celebrate it. We post about “winning” without acknowledging that for every winner, there’s usually someone quietly holding the loss.

And let’s be honest, this mindset trickles down.

Regular people do it too. Always chasing more, never sitting still long enough to appreciate what they already have. It’s not enough to be stable. Not enough to be comfortable. Not enough to have peace. There’s always this pressure to upgrade, expand, outdo.

But when everybody is reaching, grabbing, and competing in an already crowded space, the math doesn’t add up. Somebody’s slice gets smaller.

That doesn’t mean ambition is the problem. It means blind ambition is.

Because if your version of “more” requires someone else to have less, you’re not building anything. You’re just redistributing struggle in a nicer outfit.

At some point, we have to ask ourselves a real question:

Are we actually progressing… or just getting better at taking?

You Can’t Appraise Attachment

Somewhere along the way, we started confusing value with price.

Not the same thing. Not even close.

My dad has lived in the same house for 60 years. Sixty. That’s not an address. That’s a timeline. That’s where birthdays happened, where arguments cooled off on the front porch, where neighbors became family, where muscle memory can still find the light switch in the dark.

Now the city wants the land to build a park. On paper, it sounds wholesome. Trees. Benches. Joggers pretending they like jogging.

They’re offering him a settlement that’s supposedly “more than market value.” Translation: the spreadsheet says he should be grateful. The spreadsheet has never watched its sons grow up in that living room.

This is the part that fascinates me. Some of the people involved in the process genuinely seem to believe that if the number is high enough, the attachment disappears. Now don't get me wrong. There are some people on the city's acquisition team who truly care and sympathize for those in the neighborhood. They are just doing their jobs. 

But others I've heard seem to think that if I write you a check that you should just happily accept it and move on. And it's not because they are cold-hearted or anything. I'm not getting that vibe. It's because to those few, money solves all problems. Everything has a price.

“He’s getting more than it’s worth.”

According to who? Zillow? A city assessor with a clipboard? "Fair" market value measures square footage. It doesn’t measure memories. That house is the last piece of my late mom that my dad has. And what's "fair" about forcing someone out for a pickleball court to be built where their kitchen once stood?

You can appraise a roof. You cannot appraise 60 years of the lives under it.

And this isn’t just about property. It’s about how we’ve trained ourselves to think in dollar signs in any situation.

I saw a recent Facebook post where a woman named Ayisha Diaz said a man has to provide her an allowance of around $50,000/monthly to date her. Not figuratively. Literally. A financial minimum requirement to qualify for romance.

So now love has a net worth threshold?

Don't get me wrong. If attractiveness was a superpower, then Ayisha would be an Avenger. But it's absolutely ridiculous and immature to make that kind of statement. A man who is willing to lease-to-own a woman will most likely dump her as soon as next year's model comes out.

Somewhere between hustle culture and luxury Instagram aesthetics, we started attaching monetary figures to human worth. If he doesn’t make X, he’s not serious. If she doesn’t have Y lifestyle, she’s settling. If your house is worth more, your loss hurts less. That’s lazy math.

Money is a tool. A powerful one. It buys comfort, security, options. Nobody sane is pretending it doesn’t matter. But it has become the laziest shortcut for measuring importance.

If you love someone, you’ll spend on them.
If you value your home, you’ll take the highest bid.
If you respect yourself, demand a millionaire.

It’s all the same logic. And it misses the point every time.

The reason my dad’s house can’t be reduced to a number is the same reason a relationship shouldn’t be reduced to a balance sheet. Attachment is not transactional. It’s accumulated. Slowly. Quietly. Over time.

There’s a difference between compensation and equivalence. You can compensate someone financially. You cannot make them whole emotionally. It means sometimes the “fair offer” still feels unfair. 

We like numbers because they’re clean. Emotions are messy. Bureaucracies love clean. Humans live in messy.

The irony is, parks are built to create memories. To give families a place to gather. To add quality of life. And in order to build those memories, someone else has to give up theirs.

I’m not arguing cities shouldn’t develop. Or that money doesn’t matter. I’m saying we should stop pretending money solves everything. A higher number does not automatically equal justice. Or closure. Or peace. You can value something deeply without being able to quantify it.

That used to be common sense.