Danielle Knows

My baby sister’s name is Danielle. She is wise beyond her 25 years. Danielle is my favorite person this day, week, month.

We don’t get to talk to each another all that often (I’m truly surprised that someone didn’t call me on that shit). She’s got the daughter, husband, work, and school thing going on… and I’m not one to pick up the phone “just to talk”.

Our conversation tonight started off as a homework assignment for her “Racism in American Society” class at USF. I took that same class at the same school in my third semester (Fall 1992), and she didn’t even know that. Weird, huh?

Anyway, our 3+ hour conversation (at the expense of talking with my big bro) turned from racism to family events, relationships, politics, love, perspective, values imparted to us by our parents regardless of their fucked-upped-ness… and, ultimately, work ethic.

In my baby sister’s own words:

“If it wasn’t done by a Perez, it wasn’t done right.”

Goddamned skippy. I am not alone.

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