He would have been ninety-four today—born April 17, 1932. My grandfather, Leroy Joyner—better known as Deacon Joyner—was the kind of man who didn’t become a deacon… he was born one. Even before Pentecost Baptist Church in Baltimore, Maryland, even before the title was ever spoken out loud, there was something in him that belonged to God. And if I’m honest, we were both Aries—forces in our own right. We disagreed. I fussed, he preached, I responded. And somewhere in all of that, he loved and...

I’m not strong. I just surrendered. And there’s a difference. Strength performs. Strength stands up straight, fixes her face, and answers the question, “How are you?” with something socially acceptable. Surrender tells the truth. And the truth is, in less than a year and a half, I have lost my aunt, who adored me, my father, who guided me, and my grandfather, who molded me. Three pillars. Gone. And somewhere in between grief and breath, I was betrayed, left unprotected, and still expected to...

There was a show in the late ’80s called thirtysomething. It followed a group of white adults in Philadelphia trying to make sense of love, work, marriage, and identity, the kind of adulthood that still felt like something you had time to grow into. Back when the people you leaned on… were still here. I remember watching that show as a young child with an old soul. And to be honest… even then, their struggle didn’t quite reach me. It was soft to the touch. Their version of struggle… felt...