My Blog

My Blog

19
This is a guest post by my sister, Amy Lewis Faircloth.      The news around the world is dreadful. Two young black men recently killed by police officers, one in Minnesota and one in Louisiana.  Police officers fatally gunned down in Dallas and Louisiana. Terrorists attack in Turkey and across the globe. Hate attacks in Orlando. Over 80 people murdered by a truck driver in France. The presumptive Republican presidential candidate praises Saddam Hussein. The United Kingdom ...

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06
Dear Hillary,             I am one of the millions of Americans who are horrified and amused by this election season. I know you get advice from advisors, political pundits, and the Joe on the street as to how to run your campaign. I thought I would add my opinion to the ruckus.             Please consider vetting Michelle Obama as your vice president. If she isn’t available, I h...

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01
At fifty-one years old I am embarrassed that I have just made my first Muslim friend. Aakifah and I met during a writing workshop. Amid conversations on character development and plotting, we discussed her culture including Ramadan, which she was observing. We also talked about lone wolves and terrorist groups who massacre in the name of Islam. I asked a question that has plagued me about the Muslim community. “Where is the Muslim leader that speaks to the non-Muslim masses and explains ...

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20
In the wake of the Orlando shooting, it’s time to delete the word tolerate and its forms (tolerance, tolerant, tolerating) from our vocabularies when referring to the LGBTQ community. We should insert the word accept in its stead. The word tolerate most likely became popular in the sixteenth century in England. It came from Old French, which borrowed it from Latin. Five hundred years later, use of the word in America is at its height: to “tolerate” the LGBTQ community. Those ...

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13
As the only redhead in my immediate family my brother Warren knew how to annoy me. The milkman is your father, he’d say at a time when milk was delivered in glass bottles and left on Long Island doorsteps. You were born in a pumpkin patch. Mom and Dad left you out in the rain and you rusted. At six years old, each of his comments were answered with fast-flowing tears that covered my freckled face, by my wails to my parents to make him take those horrible statements back, and by my pleas f...

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