You've accepted me plainly as your daughter ever since you proposed to my mother four years ago. Whenever you introduce me there is no "step" included, no separation between the fact that I'm another one of your kids. But, I always make the distinction. Not because I don't see you as true family, but because in my mind it's almost offensive to lump you with my actual loser dad. You've elevated the meaning of family--your presence has been a step up.
[In high school], I couldn't see that I wasn't meant to succeed in white America, that no black woman was, and that fact made Beyoncé's rise that much more remarkable.
The morning after, wishing I had a pill to make everything go away, I finally faced my phone. In my inbox, I found that a growing number of friends and family expressed their envy and a desire to retreat from the political hellscape, as they assumed I could do from Paris.
When I think of dying, I always see a hospital bed surrounded by family members who've come to say adieu. I see them lining up one by one to give their final kiss to grandma or grandpa. I see them passing around kleenexes. I see them accepting death as a natural progression in life. I see them leaning on one another to grieve.
But, sudden death doesn't always happen that way...
Before I was conferred my Spelman degree, I had a terrible time at Claremont McKenna College (CMC), which left me much more wounded than I had ever cared to admit--until now.
