His name was George, and...

I woke up this morning with Critical Race Theory on my mind. And this ridiculous white fight to suppress it from public education, as if it were ever taught in American schools to begin with. I got 19 total years of schooling, earned two college degrees and damn sure never learned it. Yet, here they are, fighting to suppress something that never existed in the first place. And it’s all due to fear of losing something that damn sure exists and is threatened, their white supremacy. What a sad state of affairs. But this is America. What do we expect? I wasn’t long in my thoughts before actual names and faces begin to race through my mind. Names like Emmett Till, Medgar Evers, Trayvon Martin and George Floyd. My mind stuck the longest on George’s face. I soon realized I owed the man, his name more respect. I owe him some text. Truthfully, there are so so many who I owe this same debt. But here’s a start.

His name was George, and…

His name was George, and he was publicly lynched right there for the televisions to show.
His name was George, and we were all right there in the front row.

His name was George, and here’s what he said…”I can’t breathe. I can’t breathe. I can’t breathe. Mama, I love you. Tell the kids I love them. I’m dead.”
His name was George. He said, “I’m dead.”

His name was George, and he wanted his mother.
His name was George. He was a lover, uncle, father, brother.

His name was George. He had a black life that mattered. He was reality, not a fucking race theory.
His name was George. Iowa and Texas shol won’t be teaching his story in scholastic history.

His name was George. Have we said his name enough yet?
His name was George. His lynch mob sits in prison with zero regret.

His name was George, and here’s what he said…here’s what he said…here’s what he said.
His name was George. He said, “I can’t breathe.” He said, “I’m dead.”