You’ve passed him on the streets. You’ve seen him in offices, in schools, in stores. In anyplace and everyplace. There’s something about him-his presence. It’s always been there, but now its something new-fresh-different. The way he occupies your time, your mind, and maybe even your heart. He is all of many, yet one of few. Who is he?
He is Black Man.
Black Man comes in many shapes, many sizes, many colors. He may be a part of the new generation of tomorrow or the old generation of yesterday. He was there at the beginning. He will be there at the end. Be he leader or follower, sinner or saint, Black Man is there.
His skin may be ebony or damn near ivory. His eyes gray or black or any where in between. He may be large in size, but never in ignorance. He may be small in stature, but never in spirit.
His pride is as tall as the redwood. His honor as solid as the oak. His soul as deep as the dark earth his pride grows in and his honor firmly stands upon. His strength inner or outer is as mighty as any hero, fact or fiction. His passions can be as explosive as the erupting volcano, or as quiet as the rising dawn. He may be put down, but as many have learned; Black Man can not be put out.
Black Man has loved-hated, been loved-been hated.
Most of all Black Man has lived, he has endured, he has survived.
He has proven his self worth.
How do I know this? I have been there with him. I have brought him down when he got too high, raised him up when he got too low. I have fought next to him, stood with him, laid beside him. I have often known Black Man better than he has known himself. Who am I? I am his mother, his sister, his wife, his daughter, his friend, his lover.
I am Black Woman and I am proud of Black Man.