Today is my birthday, not merely another anniversary of my birth, but the beginning of my personal new year. For me, birthdays have never simply been about cake, gifts, or celebration. They have become sacred moments of reflection—opportunities to pause in gratitude, remember those who have traveled before me, examine what life has taught me, and recommit myself to living with greater purpose.
Every birthday reminds me that life is not measured merely by the passing of years, but by the wisdom accumulated, the lives touched, the lessons learned, and the legacy being left behind. My philosophy has become increasingly simple as I have grown older as an elder.
From my perspective “Life” is an absolute and infinite school, and living is an ongoing learning process. My greatest teachers have not been confined to classrooms, universities, books, or experiences. My major teachers are the Universe, the Sun, the Earth, Nature, History, and the Ancestors.
Every sunrise teaches me about renewal. Every season teaches me about change. Every hardship teaches resilience. Every relationship teaches something about myself and others Every success teaches me about humility, and every loss becomes another chapter in the curriculum of character development.
The longer I live, the more I recognize that wisdom does not arrive all at once; it unfolds through a lifetime of observing, listening, struggling, healing, and remaining open to life's endless instruction.
This morning I awakened thankful to greet another sunrise.
Immediately the words of James Weldon Johnson's National Black Anthem resonated within me: "Facing the rising sun of our new day begun, let us march on till victory is won." Those words have never been merely beautiful lyrics to me. They are a philosophy of living. They remind me that every sunrise is both a gift and an assignment commitment to struggle against white supremacy for Black political self-determination.
Every new day offers another opportunity to continue the unfinished work of freedom, justice, healing, and becoming the fullest expression of who we were created to be. Today, as I celebrate my sixty-ninth birthday, I do so with profound gratitude because I know that awakening this morning was not guaranteed.
As a Black man living in Michigan, I know that the average life expectancy for Black men is approximately 67.5 years. Statistically speaking, I have already lived beyond what society predicts for someone who looks like me. I do not receive that reality with the notion that I’ve lived a little longer than most Black men; I receive it with humility and reverence.
Every additional birthday is evidence that life itself is a precious gift rather than an entitlement. Each additional sunrise deepens my responsibility to use whatever time remains wisely, compassionately, courageously, and intentionally.
My gratitude today is inseparable from remembrance. I remember my mother today ‘Helen Anderson’ who without her I could not have been birthed, she labored me for 9 months; sustained and sacrificed for me while she shoulder the pain of mothering as a Black woman under white supremacy.
I cannot celebrate my own life today without honoring those Black men whose journeys ended far too soon. I think about my oldest brother, Jack, who died in his late forties. I think about two of my closest childhood friends, Gary "Bull" Reynolds and Robert "Huck" Huckabye, who died at sixty and fifty-eight.
Their laughter, their friendship, and their presence helped shape the man I became, yet they were denied the opportunity to grow into old age. Their absence reminds me that longevity is not something to assume but something to appreciate every single day.
As a conscious Black man, a political veteran, and now an elder in the continuing struggle for Black political self-determination and human rights, my reflections naturally extend to brothers who walked beside me in that movement. Today I remember Abdur Rahim, Abdul Rahman, Kalinde Iye, Kwame Kenyatta, and Chokwe Lumumba.
Each of these Brothers dedicated their live uplifting Black people, challenging injustice, organizing communities, teaching self-defense, and advancing the cause of liberation. Each carried enormous responsibilities while sacrificing personal comfort for collective progress. Yet each departed this life before or around the age of sixty-five.
Their lives remind me that service often comes with enormous personal costs, but they also remind me that meaningful lives are measured not only by length but by purpose. As I reflect further, I realize that when I look back over the neighborhoods of Detroit and Pontiac where I lived, organized, and grew into manhood, most of the Black men I have known never became elders; too many died before they had the chance to retire.
Too many never watched their grandchildren grow; too many never enjoyed the peace that should accompany old age; too many spent their entire lives surviving but never truly experiencing the fullness of living. Their absence has become woven into my own story, and it has forced me to ask difficult questions about why Black men continue to leave this world so early.
Today Reflecting On Black Men’s Grief
One answer to why Black men die too soon I believe, lies in something we rarely discuss openly is grief. One of the greatest public health crises affecting Black men is not simply hypertension, diabetes, heart disease, stroke, cancer, or kidney disease. It is unaddressed and unresolved grief. Throughout our lives we lose fathers, mothers, brothers, sisters, sons, daughters, friends, mentors, neighbors, classmates, comrades, communities, opportunities, and dreams.
As Black men all of our lives we witness violence, injustice, discrimination, economic hardship, political setbacks, and countless personal disappointments. Yet from an early age many Black boys are taught that survival requires silence. We are taught to keep moving, remain strong, suppress emotion, and never allow vulnerability to be mistaken for weakness.
The tragedy is that grief never disappears simply because it remains unspoken. It changes form. It settles into the nervous system. It embeds itself within muscles and connective tissue. It influences our sleep, raises blood pressure, weakens immunity, disrupts hormonal balance, fuels chronic inflammation, and contributes to countless chronic illnesses.
Black men’s grief often manifests as irritability instead of sadness, emotional numbness instead of healing, addiction instead of comfort, isolation instead of connection, and premature death instead of long life. The body eventually speaks the grief that the mouth never found the courage or permission to express.
I have come to believe that many Black men are not merely carrying stress; we are carrying cemeteries. We carry the memory of every funeral we attended, every brother buried too young, every act of racism endured, every dream postponed, every humiliation swallowed, every betrayal survived, every injustice witnessed, every opportunity denied, and every burden quietly accepted.
These invisible emotional burdens accumulate year after year until they become physical burdens carried by the heart, brain, immune system, muscles, and every organ of the body. Our bodies remember what our minds often attempt to forget. Healing begins when grief is finally given language.
Healing begins when Black men discover that vulnerability is not weakness but courage. Healing begins when we create spaces where brothers can tell the truth about pain without fear of judgment or ridicule. Healing begins when emotional literacy is valued alongside financial literacy, political awareness, and professional achievement.
Healing begins when we intentionally regulate our nervous systems, seek restorative sleep, cultivate healthy relationships, embrace preventive healthcare, and recognize that emotional well-being is inseparable from physical health.
As Black men we cannot fully heal our communities without also healing ourselves. Living under systemic racism compounds this burden. When a society repeatedly communicates through its institutions, policies, media, and historical practices that Black men's lives are less valuable and expendable, too many of us unconsciously internalize these messages.
Internalized devaluation can become self-neglect. It may sound like, "I'll go to the doctor later," "I'm fine," "I don't have time to rest," or "It doesn't matter." Over time those beliefs become reflected in unhealthy behaviors, delayed medical care, unmanaged stress, emotional suppression, and shortened lives. The antidote is reclaiming our inherent worth.
Every Black man must understand that protecting his body, mind, spirit, and peace is self-revolutionary. Rest is resistance. Healing is resistance. Preventive healthcare is resistance. Emotional wellness is resistance. Living long enough to become a wise elder is resistance.
As I have grown older, gratitude has become one of my greatest daily disciplines. Gratitude is not denial of suffering, nor is it naïve optimism. Rather, gratitude is disciplined awareness. It is the conscious decision to recognize life's gifts even while acknowledging life's hardships.
Every morning I awaken thankful for breath, thankful for another sunrise, thankful for another lesson, thankful for another opportunity to love, serve, forgive, learn, and grow. Gratitude changes how we experience time. Instead of counting only what life has taken from us, we begin appreciating what life continues to entrust to us. Gratitude does not erase pain; it transforms perspective.
As birthdays accumulate, accomplishments become less impressive than character. Yes, titles fade, positions change, and recognition disappears. Wealth comes and goes. Possessions eventually belong to someone else.
Character, however, remains the truest measure of a life well lived. I have come to believe that success is measured less by what we accumulate than by who we become. Integrity matters more than influence. Compassion matters more than popularity. Wisdom matters more than status.
Each year I strive to strengthen three qualities that no one can take away from me: strength, the determination to continue despite adversity; courage, the willingness to confront truth even when it is uncomfortable; and wisdom, the humility to remain a lifelong student of the Universe, the Earth, Nature, History, and the Ancestors. These are not destinations to be reached but lifelong disciplines to be practiced.
As I begin my sixty-ninth year of life, I do not simply hope for more birthdays. I struggle for meaningful birthdays. I make intentions to have years devoted to healing, mentoring younger generations, strengthening my health, deepening gratitude, expanding wisdom, protecting peace, serving my community as an elder, and becoming an even better student in life's infinite school.
To every Black man who may one day read these reflections, I offer this simple reminder: your life possesses immeasurable value. Your health matters. Your emotions matter. Your tears matter. Your grief deserves acknowledgment. Your joy deserves protection. Your wisdom deserves to be shared. Your longevity is an act of resistance in a world that has too often expected your absence rather than your presence.
Live long enough to become the elder your younger self needed. Tell your story while you still can. Protect your peace. Care for your body with the same dedication that you care for your family and community. Honor your grief instead of hiding it. Practice gratitude every morning. Continue learning. Continue growing. Continue serving. Continue loving. Continue healing. Continue marching on until victory is won.
As long as the Sun rises over the Earth, as long as Nature continues revealing its lessons, and as long as the Ancestors whisper inspiration and wisdom into the hearts of those willing to listen, there remains meaningful work to do. The curriculum of life is never exhausted. We remain students until our final breath.
So today, on my sixty-ninth birthday, I greet another sunrise with thanksgiving, inspiration, intention, and commitment. I begin another personal new year; I embrace another lesson in life's infinite school. I remember those Black men who can no longer celebrate their birthdays, and I honor them by living this day with intention.
I will continue to cultivate strength, courage, wisdom, gratitude, and compassion. I will continue marching on toward justice, healing, and liberation, trusting that each sunrise offers another opportunity to contribute to a freer Black people and a better world.
For as the National Black Anthem reminds us, "Facing the rising sun of our new day begun, let us march on till victory is won." Today, I rise with that spirit. Today, I give thanks for life itself. Today as always I remember the sacrifices of our freedom-fighting Ancestors both known and unknown. Today, I 'Cinque Kwado Akoma Akofena' begin again and the struggle continues!
