Juneteenth

https://www.history.com/news/what-is-juneteenth

Here we are. Independence Day for men, women, and children of colour. The day when slaves were freed in Galveston, Texas. I never knew about this holiday since it was not taught to me in school. I only knew that Lincoln had promised to end slavery, which he did, and that angered the slave masters. This is what they were afraid of, because in the days leading up to the war, slavery was the South’s bread and butter. I had heard of the Emancipation Proclamation, but I never studied it. There were no Civics classes when I was going to school. The closest was my Global History I class, and that was mostly about Mesopotamia and the Crusades. I learned about the North/South war through a book I read. Whilst it was a good read, at times I wanted to put it down because the way slaves were treated was too much to bear at times.

This is also Independence Day for my friend Brenda, who is NOT a woman of colour. But she has the soul of a black woman. We have both been in the struggle. She had a turbulent childhood, like I did, she grew up poor, like I did, she’s lived in the hood. When she had her first child, she was broke and living with her boyfriend, who ended up cheating on her years later. When we talk, I revert to using hood vernacular instead of the King’s English because I know that’s what she understands. I might say: What up Brenda? Mofos still trying to savour that Kansas flavour? You know that junk in your trunk is not made for chumps or meth heads That’s word. Only with her do I talk like that. All other times I speak normally. I love that she wants to do the Selma Marches despite having MS.

https://www.archives.gov/research/african-americans/vote/selma-marches

Even though today is a federal holiday, I still had to work, but that’s fine. I actually had a good day since schools were closed and no sickening cheese buses to drive me mad. What really surprises me is that Dictator for Life Biden signed it into law. In his defence, he didn’t know what he was signing. His handlers just point and tell him where to put his John Hancock. I’m thankful for that, but I still hate the rat bastard and his wretched wife down to their last scrap of DNA.

As usual, thanks for reading my latest blog post. Comments are always welcome. Have a good day, beautiful people.