musings of a lover… of … yes… that, too…

On Loving Harold

I love Harold McMillan.

I could end the blog there. It would be sufficient to say I love him. Harold. The man. Harold. The bass player. Harold. The keeper of cultural history. Harold. The storyteller. Harold. My friend. Harold. My collaborator. Of the people I miss from Austin, Texas, Harold Mac is in the top 5.

So when his brother died and I couldn’t be there for him, I prayed and sent him all the love and light I could, hoping he felt it. And then, and then. THIS. Harold manhandled by police at Hermann Memorial Hospital in Houston, TX  on April 5 when he went to gather his brother’s belongings. Please don’t stop by to tell me we only have Harold’s side of the story. Just don’t. I can’t say much here except I am SICK of police brutality, assault, and murder. Yeah, yeah, yeah. I KNOW there are some “good cops.” But I am SICK of police brutality, assault, and murder. Because I love Harold Mac. And Darius. Antonio. Deon. Anthony. Greg. Joseph. Vance. Raymond. SahLeem. Joshua. Jonathan. Thomas. Joey. Kendal. Keith. Derrick. Derek. Markiese. Markevious. Chris. Christopher. John. Brandon. Cedrick. Daryl. Robert. Aaron. Charles. Charleton. Kirk. Kevin. Ronald. Ronnie. Reginald. Larry. Lawrence. Quentin. Tony. Toby. Jervay. JeRoy. Jason. Justin. Earle. Andre, Terry … and many, many more…

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