I forgot -- one of my favorite black men is having a birthday today. He knows who he is. We've been friends for twenty years this summer, through bad relationships (he kept me from commiting a crime against an ex after a particularly bad breakup), bad bar exam results, fallouts with law firms and friends, career adjustments, loss of parents, marriage, and, for him, children. And despite the passage of time, we can pick up wherever we left off just by starting a conversation, which we don't do as much as we should. He is the personification of honor, chivalry, hard work, values, and kindness, traits we don't give black men enough credit for having these days. Plus, to be able to speak to a trusted friend over the years and not have to apologize for or change who you are when you speak to him because he knows your history? Priceless. Mastercard can't touch that.
Happy Birthday, Black Man. Here's to another twenty years of friendship!
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