The Bible Belt is also:
The divorce belt
The teen pregnancy belt
The obesity belt
The murder belt
The poverty belt
The high-school dropout belt
The uneducated belt
The MAGA belt
The prison belt
The disease belt
None of these are a coincidence. They are not simply correlation.
This is cause and effect.
The Lessons I Learned from My Dad
I am not the man my father is.
I am trying. Some days closer. Some days farther.
He never sat me down and explained these lessons. He lived them. I’m still learning them.
Show up.
The kitchen table. The hospital room. The funeral. The picket line. The call from the son who won’t answer.
Show up.
Most days that’s the whole job.
My whole life I watched him do it. Not for cameras. Not for headlines. Not because there was something in it for him. He showed up because someone needed him.
I learned that grief doesn’t make you special.
My father buried a wife and daughter. He buried a son. Yet he never treated grief as a claim on other people’s sympathy. Instead, it made him notice theirs.
A mother who lost a child. A father sitting beside a hospital bed. A kid scared about what comes next. A son who lost his mother, his sister, his brother.
He always noticed.
I learned that power is not the point.
The people who chase power eventually confuse the office with themselves.
My father never did.
Whether he was a county councilman, a senator, vice president, or president, he was the same man.
The title changed.
He didn’t.
I learned that family comes first.
The train from Wilmington wasn’t symbolism.
It was every night.
He read to us. Showed up to games. Sat through hospital rooms. Waited up for children who were lost.
And when the day came that the country and the family could not both have him at full strength, he chose family. He relinquished the last chapter of how he wanted to be remembered. And he never complained about it.
Most of all, I learned that love is not soft.
Love is discipline.
Love is showing up at one in the morning when nobody is watching.
Love is answering the phone.
Love is staying.
Love is getting back up after life knocks you down and doing it all again tomorrow.
That love saved my life.
I’ve failed at many of these lessons, sometimes in very public ways.
He loved me anyway.
That’s the last lesson.
I am not trying to become my father.
I am trying to carry what he gave me.
And if I can do that, even imperfectly, that will be enough.
Happy Father’s Day, Dad. I love you.
The Reflecting Pool is a perfect metaphor for the Trump administration:
- Ignore experts and science
- Overspend
- Declare early, historic victory
- "THE LEFT HATE THIS"
- Ends in total failure
- Unfounded conspiracies about sabotage
- MAGA pretends it doesn't actually matter
Michelle Obama to Barack: "How absurd it is to even imagine that you might have buckled under the pressure even once. Lashed out in frustration. Lost your temper. How absurd it is to imagine that you might have done anything but make our family and this entire country proud."
Letterman: Mrs. Obama and Mr. Obama… oh my god speeches one actually listens to, speeches that consume you, that get inside you and cause you to think and feel like a lowly, worthless human being who has to strive to greatness. It's an amazing afternoon, and I'm going to shut up here in a minute because my nose is running.
My advice? Fuck a deck. I'm all decked out. Write an outline and sit down and write the script.
The average script page is 225 words. Four pages a day for 12 days, you have a television script. Add another fifteen days, you have a feature. And you're not done. Writing is rewriting. Put it away for another week, and come back with new eyes. I'm not saying it will be any good. Not yet. But it's a start.
Not telling you anything I'm not also doing.
If you put all that energy into a deck and it doesn't sell ---and trust me, most don't, all you have is a nice brochure. At least with a spec, you have something to show for it. Something you can build on.
Stop making excuses. Rip the band-aid off. Working full time? Toni Morrison got up at 3:45 am., wrote from 4 to 6, and then took her kids to school, and then edited books full time. And still managed to write Song Of Solomon, the Bluest Eye, and constant other classics while waiting for her shot.
Don't have a computer? Tarantino, Spike Lee, and Stallone all write by hand, which is something I've gone back to. Moleskine and Paper Mate markers. No distractions, you can do it a anywhere, and when you retype, gives you a second bite at the apple.
(Photograph your pages. If you lose your notebook or spill coffee on it, that's all she wrote.)
Don't start with four pages. Start with one. Fifteen minutes -- you spend longer in the shower, brushing your teeth, and scrolling.
I wish I could give you a shortcut, but I can't. Writing sucks. No way around that. If you box, no one else gonna put in the roadwork, skip rope, hit the bag, or get punched in the face for you. That's your job.
Everybody wants a hug, and to be told it's all going to be okay, and I can't tell you that. But what I can tell you is no unwritten script ever gets sold.
As for me? I've got miles to run and pages to hit. Keep going....Always Forward, Forward Always...
Addiction is never an excuse, but it can be an explanation. Seeking genuine forgiveness from those we have harmed is one of the hardest things to do in recovery. It’s one of the hardest things for any of us to do in life. I’ve found that, before you begin that journey, you have to first forgive yourself. I would love to hear about your experience, strength and hope today.