The ones calling me “woke” today are the descendants of the ones who called my father a communist....

Late nights and early mornings are the worst. That’s when all the fears inside your head start twittering and looking for a way out. It’s when all the problems seemingly no longer have a solution. Come January ‘round here the meaning of “late” becomes elastic. “Late” is half the day. Inside the head the bad stuff is magnified, and the good stuff is attacked with excuses the way you might attack a tree with an ax. Only the light of day brings relief and a bit of perspective. Practicality finally makes an appearance. What you grappled with in the dark is not quite as fearsome once the sun hits it.

The problem, of course, is that it’s gonna get dark again.