In 1964 I entered the first grade in a small town in Ohio.  I along with a few friends, were from a neighborhood called the "Heights," a low income area of town that was littered with factories and bars.  In fact, we lived next door to a bar and spent many nights tossing and turning in bed trying to drown out the loud music, cursing, arguments, fights and occasional gunfire.   But compared to where we had come from - Georgia - living in Ohio was a tremendous upgrade. 

Read more: My Trip to the North Pole

My mother was an early riser.  Typically, by 5:00 in the morning she was up and about, having her first cup of coffee.  I use to think that my mother was a coffee addict.  Each morning, without fail, she would sit at the kitchen table and sip her coffee alone, staring pensively into space.  I never thought much about it while growing up.  I was a kid and finding meaning in such actions really were not at the top of my agenda.  Of course, had I been in tune, I would have learned a lot from her early morning vigil.

Read more: A Cup of Coffee

Not too long ago a friend of mine was struggling with this whole "biracial" term, as it relates to President Barack Obama.  "He's also part white," he commented, "Yet all I keep hearing is that this is America's first African American president.  What gives?"  Of course, I am never short on opinions, so I couldn't help but add to his confusion. 

First of all, race is stupid.  The whole concept of race doesn't make a lot of sense.  Humans are not like cars, where a Chevy engine won't fit into a Ford.  A black person's heart fits, and works, fine in a white person's body, and vice-versa.  Biologically, there is no such thing as race.  With that being said though, back to Obama. 

Read more: Biracial?