Football fans are likely familiar with DeSean Jackson’s arrival into the NFL after being a college star with the California Golden Bears. Go Deep isn’t just a story about DeSean’s journey into the NFL but also his father Bill’s desire for his two sons to have lasting success in the NFL. The footage from the documentary comes from DeSean’s older brother Byron, who was a wide receiver who spent a couple of seasons on the Kansas City practice squad. Byron was pushed by the elder Jackson to work towards NFL success despite Byron’s other interest in filmmaking. Byron Jackson’s talent in filmmaking led him to want to capture the burgeoning football career of his then-kid brother DeSean when the chances of Byron making an NFL roster seemed very slim.

Although much of the documentary is set in California, Bill Jackson’s roots were in Pittsburgh as a big Steelers fan growing up before moving his family to California before DeSean was born. The strong and sometimes volatile relationship between DeSean and his father is highlighted as his father attempts to guide him through high school stardom, the father’s strong desires for his son’s success that leads to issues with his coaches, and keeping his talented younger son from any off the field troubles that can happen to young Black male athletes as they receive national accolades.

One of the more interesting moments of the documentary takes place prior the 2008 NFL Draft when former California Golden Bears head football coach Jeff Tedford has a discussion with the Jackson prior to the NFL Draft. While discussing that he wasn’t trying to convince Jackson to return to college for his senior year at California, Telford has a heated discussion with Bill Jackson about the father and the head coach’s play calling. Ultimately, DeSean Jackson didn’t return to California and surprisingly fell to the second round of the 2008 NFL Draft.

While football is the focus of the documentary, Go Deep is more about family dynamics than football. Older brother Byron shifts between filmmaker, older brother as a mentor, and the unique relationship with his strong-willed father. The success of DeSean Jackson during his rookie year with the Philadelphia Eagles seems to validate the actions of father Bill Jackson in pushing his son towards getting to the NFL and the film ends with a number of touching moments. The film was appropriately named due to DeSean Jackson’s NFL special skill and the Jackson family dynamic.

Staff Writer; Mark Hines

Think about where this thing starts. A nineteen year old born in Brooklyn and raised on Long Island landed a spot on Saturday Night Live in 1980, back when critics had already buried the show and taken to calling it Saturday Night Dead. The original cast had scattered to the movies. Ratings sagged, and NBC was questioning the show’s future. Then one skinny teenager began carrying entire sketches with a confidence that made him impossible to ignore. His arrival helped breathe new life into a struggling program. Jean Doumanian gave him the gig. Dick Ebersol later recognized what the network had on its hands and gave Murphy room to become a superstar.

By 21 he landed in 48 Hrs., a gritty buddy cop picture starring Nick Nolte. Earlier versions of the project had involved discussions about Clint Eastwood and Richard Pryor, but neither ended up in the finished film. In walked the newcomer, playing a fast talking convict named Reggie Hammond, and the chemistry between him and Nolte turned the picture into something special. Folks left the theater quoting the rookie as much as the veteran. That was not luck. What you witnessed there was a kid establishing himself as a movie star before Hollywood had even figured out what to do with him.

Here is where the permission piece really matters. Hollywood in the early 80s had already witnessed the box office power of Richard Pryor and Sidney Poitier, yet opportunities for young Black leading men remained limited. Beverly Hills Cop had originally been developed with Mickey Rourke attached before Sylvester Stallone became involved. When Stallone departed, Paramount brought Murphy aboard. The film became the highest grossing domestic release of 1984, earning more than $234 million and eventually surpassing Ghostbusters. His face sold that ticket. Murphy’s timing helped build a franchise. Paramount suddenly had one of the biggest movie stars in the country, with a 23 year old Black man’s name stamped all over its success.

His run through the 1980s still looks unreal on paper. Trading Places had already shown his range in 1983. After Beverly Hills Cop came The Golden Child and Beverly Hills Cop II. Coming to America arrived in 1988, where Murphy played multiple characters and handed us a Black fairy tale with a king, a prince, and a barbershop full of old heads, years before Hollywood began making representation a regular part of its public conversations. His 1983 HBO special Delirious and the 1987 theatrical concert film Raw proved his stand up could command enormous audiences without a supporting cast. All told, his movies have generated billions of dollars worldwide, an extraordinary achievement for a brother who entered an industry where opportunities for Black leading men had long been restricted.

He never once asked if any of it was allowed. Dude just kept winning until the argument died of exhaustion.

I want the young folks reading this to sit with the weight of that, because the ground he broke is the ground they stroll across today. Chris Rock, Martin Lawrence, Dave Chappelle, Kevin Hart, and generations of Black comedians have followed paths that Murphy helped make wider. Every brother who dreamed of carrying a major Hollywood comedy could look at what Eddie accomplished during the Reagan years and recognize that the possibilities had changed. He was not the first Black comedian to become a movie star, but few had reached that level of mainstream success so young. The blueprint was simple and merciless. Be undeniable. Make the gatekeepers irrelevant.

So what is he doing right now, at 65 years old? Still refusing to coast, that’s what.

Earlier this month, word came down that Eddie is attached to star in a Peacock drama titled The Chairman, developed by Matthew Weiner, the mind behind Mad Men. Here’s the wild part. After more than four decades in entertainment, Murphy could be preparing to headline his first live action scripted television series. The project remains in development, so there is no guarantee it will reach the screen. Still, the possibility says plenty about his appetite for something different. Rather than returning to another familiar comedy role, he is exploring dramatic television. Picture it, a sixty something legend still looking toward rooms he has not conquered yet.

Plenty else is cooking too. Back in 2024 he strapped on Axel Foley’s badge one more time for Netflix in Beverly Hills Cop: Axel F, and the revival found an eager streaming audience, proof the old magic still travels. Last year he cracked the curtain for a documentary called Being Eddie, a rare peek behind a life he has guarded carefully for decades. Come June 30, 2027, he is scheduled to return as Donkey in Shrek 5. That lovable character introduced him to a generation of kids who never knew Buckwheat, Mr. Robinson, or his Gumby. A George Clinton biopic is also in development with Bill Condon, his old Dreamgirls director, which feels about right. The comedian who helped define an era of entertainment is preparing to portray the man who gave us Parliament-Funkadelic. He has also confirmed plans to play Inspector Clouseau in a new Pink Panther movie, another chance to put his own stamp on a character audiences already know.

At 65, with more than four decades in entertainment behind him, Eddie still approaches new opportunities with the hunger of somebody just getting started.

People forget how much nerve that early stretch demanded. Richard Pryor had kicked open doors already, no argument, though his genius often ran dark and jagged, a brilliant open wound. Young Eddie came through with a different kind of confidence, grinning one minute and cutting somebody down with a perfectly timed joke the next. He aimed himself dead at the center of American pop culture and proceeded to take his place there. Bill Cosby would soon dominate television with The Cosby Show, while Sidney Poitier had already established a legacy that helped change Hollywood’s understanding of Black leading men. Both earned their places in entertainment history. Murphy did something different with his shot. In he strolled, loud and young and certain, daring the whole machine to tell him no.

They couldn’t keep him out. That’s the entire story right there. More than four decades after his breakthrough, the brother is still working. New projects are already lined up for next year, with others in development.

I’ve watched a mess of careers rise and crash since the night I first heard that Raw cackle rattle through my cousin’s living room. Trends burned out. Comics flared up and vanished. The lone constant across four decades has been a Brooklyn kid who decided early that his gift was not up for a vote, then proved the point season after season until the doubters ran clean out of air.

That is what we mean by ruling without a permission slip. You don’t haggle over your worth. Instead you lay it on the floor, loud, until the room has no choice left but to nod. That is the lesson Eddie Murphy handed a whole lineage of Black men, in real time, on the largest stage going.

So no, he never waited around to be let in. He went ahead and bought the building.

Staff Writer; Lee Walker

This brother is a fitness trainer with 12 years of experience, focused on building strength, clarity, and real health within the Black community. Through his writing, Mr. Walker hopes to uplift younger Black men and men in general through honest conversations about fitness, financial pressure, fatherhood, discipline, mental wellness, and the importance of brotherhood.

Have questions? Reach me at LeeW@ThyBlackMan.com.

]]> https://thyblackman.com/2026/10/19/eddie-murphy-black-men-hollywood-comedy-legacy/feed/ 0 https://thyblackman.com/2026/10/19/bobby-womack-i-wish-he-didnt-trust-me-so-much/ https://thyblackman.com/2026/10/19/bobby-womack-i-wish-he-didnt-trust-me-so-much/#respond Mon, 19 Oct 2026 05:05:22 +0000 https://thyblackman.com/?p=143183 (ThyBlackMan.com) Trust, Desire, and Guilt Collide in Bobby Womack’s “I Wish He Didn’t Trust Me So Much”…

A Deep Dive into a Soul Music Classic…

Few songs capture the push and pull of longing and guilt like Bobby Womack’s 1985 hit, “I Wish He Didn’t Trust Me So Much.” The track lingers in that uneasy space where desire meets regret, and you can feel the weight of every choice being made. Womack’s lived-in voice makes it all sound real. Even after the song ends, it stays with you.

Written by Harold Payne, Pete Luboff, and James Eubanks, the song was released as the lead single from Womack’s album So Many Rivers. Womack co-produced it with James Gadson, keeping his voice front and center. Britain’s Robert Palmer adds subtle guitar lines beneath the vocals, while Brazilian percussionist Paulinho Da Costa drives the rhythm with vibrant energy. Jazz legend Dorothy Ashby’s delicate harp brings an elegant touch, and Vesta Williams, before her solo career, adds warmth and depth alongside the session singers.

What gives the song its power isn’t just the story, but the way Womack delivers it. The understated 1980s production sharpens the emotions without ever getting in the way. One of Womack’s first music videos, a simple studio performance, gave audiences a clear look at his emotive timing and expression.

Womack was more than a singer; as a producer, musician, and songwriter, he brought unmatched artistry to every track. Throughout his career, he paired emotional honesty with musical sophistication, and “I Wish He Didn’t Trust Me So Much” stands as a prime example, exploring deep internal conflict. Decades later, the song continues to resonate as a personal confession, a reflection on human desire, and a story of temptation, longing, and consequence.

From the first lines, Womack openly acknowledges the depth of friendship and trust:

“I’m the best friend he’s got / I’d give him the shirt off my back

He knows he can trust me with his life.”

That pride makes the conflict all the more painful, threatening something he truly values.
A wry, ironic observation soon reveals the attraction simmering beneath the surface:

“How can he be so blind? / We have both got the same good taste.”

Humor and guilt coexist in these lines, showing the tension between awareness and denial. Womack then takes responsibility, refusing to place blame:

“Listen to me… / It’s not that she leads me on / I’m getting there all by myself.”

That’s the temptation moving him willingly, intensifying the moral conflict. Finally, he confesses the emotional pull he can’t fully control:

“Though I swear, oh, it is not my will / But there is a way… there is a way she makes me feel.”

Despite his loyalty and good intentions, desire exerts its own force, capturing the fragile edges of human weakness—the space between what we know is right and what we feel.

Culturally, the song reflects mid-1980s R&B’s willingness to explore the complexities of relationships. Music and lyrics work together so perfectly that every note hits just right, creating a sound you can’t forget. In moments like this, you can imagine everyone in the studio knowing they had something special on their hands.

Artist: Bobby Womack
Track: “I Wish He Didn’t Trust Me So Much”
Album: So Many Rivers (1985)
Songwriters: Harold Payne, Pete Luboff, James Eubanks
Producers: Bobby Womack, James Gadson

Lyrics from “I Wish He Didn’t Trust Me So Much” performed by Bobby Womack.
Written by Harold Payne, Pete Luboff, and James Eubanks. © 1985 MCA Records.

A collective thank you to the artists, songwriters, producers, musicians, engineers, and music professionals responsible for shaping the sound and soul of these recordings.

Staff Writer; Patricia “Trish” Brooks

Trish is an accomplished writer whose journey has been shaped by more than two decades of experience in the music industry, including 10 years working for Quincy Jones Entertainment (QJE) and Qwest Records. Originally from the Midwest and now based on the West Coast, Trish brings a deep appreciation for African American history and culture to her work, crafting stories that inform, inspire, uplift, and resonate with readers.

As a contributing writer and journalist for the Los Angeles Sentinel, ThyBlackMan, and ThySistas, Trish covers music, wellness, culture, and the stories that deserve to be told. Beyond writing, she embraces a wellness-focused lifestyle and curates soul-stirring playlists as a creative side venture. Above all, Trish lives a Christ-centered life, with her faith guiding her words and her work.

You can follow her on Instagram: trishsplaylist.

Feel free to reach out to her directly at: PTBrooks@ThyBlackMan.com.

So that’s where Brother Love lands today, 56 years old, serving a sentence of 50 months following convictions on two counts of transportation to engage in prostitution. A federal jury cleared Combs of the more serious racketeering conspiracy and sex trafficking charges in July 2025. His attorneys are appealing both his conviction and sentence, but for now, the man who once seemed to have the entertainment world at his feet is living under federal prison rules.

Here’s the part that keeps a lot of us tangled up inside. Puff built something that mattered. Bad Boy Records bent the sound of a whole era. He put Biggie on. Beyond the music sat a fashion label, a vodka empire, award stages, magazine covers, the full mountain. A kid from a hard start climbed about as high as this country lets anybody climb. When a fall comes this steep, pride wants to flinch, loyalty wants to argue, and a piece of everybody who watched him rise feels the sting like it’s personal.

Feeling that sting, though, is not the same as waving off the wounds he left behind.

Let me put it plain. Achievement buys nobody a pass on how they treat people. Every dollar he ever counted could not cancel that hotel footage from 2016, the recording showing him physically assaulting Cassie Ventura in a hallway as she tried to escape. Nobody with working eyes watched that and called it love. Riches cannot rinse it clean. Talent cannot bury it. A closet packed with trophies cannot make a woman unafraid of the hands that struck her.

I came up around brothers who could do it all. They could fix an engine, feed a block, and make a room laugh till it ached. Yet a few of those very gifted souls walked through their own front doors and turned the house into a place of fear. Being great in one lane never undid the damage done in another. Our elders knew better than to hand somebody a halo just for being talented. Fame, somewhere down the line, talked plenty of folks out of that plain old wisdom.

This next stretch is where I want to move slow, because two separate things keep getting mashed into one lump.

Standing up for a person’s rights and defending his conduct are two different acts. They should never be confused. I’ll argue all day that Sean Combs deserved a fair trial and deserves an honest appeal, with due process that runs the same for Diddy as for anybody breathing. That principle matters deeply to Black Men, since the record shows how often our communities have faced unequal treatment within the justice system and how quickly our version of events can get dismissed. Honest courts, straight juries, punishment that fits the offense, I want every ounce of that guarded, for the famous and for the brother no reporter will ever name.

Twisting that fairness into cover for the harm itself is the move I refuse. Granting a person due process is one statement. Claiming Diddy did nothing wrong is a completely separate statement, and nobody should staple the two together. Both truths can ride at the same time. Protection under the law belongs to the man, and so does a real reckoning for what he did. Grown folks carry both without dropping either.

Some of the brothers reading this might push back. They’ll point out the cameras chased him harder on account of his color, that plenty of powerful figures do foul things and skate off clean. There are legitimate questions about whether wealth, influence, and race affect how people are investigated, prosecuted, and portrayed. I won’t pretend those concerns don’t exist. Even so, the cure for an unfair spotlight is not denying what the light exposed. If others walk, that’s an argument for more accountability across the board, not a discount for our own. Dropping the bar for the brothers we love does them no favor, and it does the people they hurt a quiet kind of cruelty.

Consider the message we hand the young ones when status gets to cover sin. We’d be teaching them that enough fame patches any crack, passing down a lie that says the aim is to grow so big nobody dares touch you, so rich the rules just bow. Follow that road to its end and you find a figure who held more talent and treasure than most of us will ever smell, and he’s sitting in Allenwood right now, with reports of contraband, disciplinary problems, and lost prison credits following him from one facility to another.

Strength was never about ducking the bill when it came due. Manhood, the kind our old heads tried to pour into us, meant answering for your actions whether a crowd clapped or not. Owning your wrong runs harder than earning a Grammy. Facing the ones you damaged takes more spine than selling out an arena. We shortchange the next generation every time we whisper that winning is the escape hatch from character.

So I’m holding two things in these hands this evening. There’s compassion for a human being serving his sentence, far removed from the freedom, comforts, and empire he once enjoyed. And there’s a flat refusal to call his harm by any softer name. Neither one erases the other.

Black Men get to be complicated in our judgment. Grieving the squandered gift and honoring the women who suffered can live side by side. We can defend the principle of fair treatment while making it clear that putting hands on somebody is wrong, regardless of fame or success. Nuance isn’t softness. It’s love with some grown years on it.

The ones coming up behind us are studying how we handle this moment. Let’s make certain they catch the right lesson. You can respect what a person is owed under the law without excusing his worst behavior. No amount of success ever places someone above the people he was supposed to love.

Staff Writer; Jamar Jackson

This brother loves poetry, music, and the culture that raised him… His words come from somewhere honest, and they speak to everyday Black folks just living their lives… Reach him at JJackson@ThyBlackMan.com.

By now you have seen the stories. The rapper most of us call Rozay walked into a Miami Beach police station on October 1 and walked back out later that day after posting a $5,000 bond. Court records list one felony count of battery by strangulation and one misdemeanor battery charge. At the center of the public allegations stands a model named Jazzma Kendrick, who says she was treated like a punching bag during their relationship. She alleges that Ross injured her lip and left her fearing what might come next. Rick Ross denies the allegations, calling them fabricated, and has entered a not guilty plea. His arraignment is scheduled for October 22.

So we sit with two accounts. One from a sister who has gone public with allegations of abuse. The other from a famous brother who insists he did nothing wrong.

Here is where I want to slow down, since the internet never does. Scroll any timeline and you will catch grown folks turning a strangulation accusation into a punchline. They dismiss it as “that’s just how they move,” offering the same tired shrug we reserve for ordinary relationship drama. That shrug is the entire problem. A busted lip is not a spat. Someone being deprived of air, if the allegations unfolded as described in the police affidavit, is not simply a bad night. One of the charges is a felony, and both allegations deserve serious attention. We cheapen something serious when we file accusations of domestic violence under gossip.

Let me be plain about the part my people love to skip. Anybody accused is presumed innocent until proven guilty, and Rozay holds that same right any one of us would want for ourselves. I am not writing to convict anybody in a column. My aim is to pull the Brothers aside and point toward the lesson sitting under the headline, regardless of how this case is ultimately resolved.

That lesson is control.

The police affidavit describes a confrontation that allegedly began with a photograph and an Instagram tag. According to the allegations, jealousy fueled an argument in which Kendrick was struck, pulled by her hair, and choked when the collar of her hoodie was twisted until she could not breathe. Ross disputes these accusations, and the courts have yet to determine what happened. Still, the larger lesson reaches beyond this case. How many of us have felt jealousy or anger climb the neck and had to decide, right there, who we were about to be?

A real man answers that question with his hands down.

I came up when “handle it at home” meant keep it quiet, and quiet became the dark corner where too many sisters got hurt with nobody looking. We do not have to haul that inheritance another mile. Emotional control is not softness. Walking away to cool off is not weakness, and never was. The strongest brother I knew could swallow his pride with his whole chest on fire, and I never once watched him raise a fist toward the mother of his children. That is manhood. Call it the standard, and it costs nothing beyond discipline.

Respect belongs in this talk too, because folks sling the word around loose. Treating a woman right runs deeper than holding doors and covering dinner while her peace gets handled like an afterthought. Her body and her spirit stay off limits to your temper, permanently, no exceptions, no “she pushed me there.” Nobody pushes you into strangling somebody or using violence to settle an argument. That choice belongs to the person who makes it, and nobody else.

Now, about what Rick Ross has been doing while his case moves through the courts. With the October 22 arraignment approaching, footage circulating from a Miami nightclub reportedly showed Rozay spending time with an unidentified woman. The pair appeared affectionate, and one clip seemed to capture a kiss. Nobody outside that situation can say for certain who she is or what their relationship involves. Ross has also waived his right to attend pretrial conferences, allowing his attorneys to appear on his behalf, a decision that is not unusual in criminal cases. Neither his social activities nor that legal decision establishes anything about his guilt or innocence. Still, public appearances carry their own weight when serious allegations remain unresolved. A night out may be ordinary business for a celebrity, but the public is watching something far more serious than his social calendar. I will not pretend to know what sits in that man’s heart. What matters is that the accusations receive the attention they deserve and that the legal process remains fair to everyone involved.

This is not Ross’s first encounter with serious criminal allegations. Rewind to 2015. He was arrested in Georgia after groundskeepers at his estate accused him and an associate of assault, including an allegation that one of the men had been struck with a handgun. Ross disputed the accusations and maintained that he had acted in self-defense. The case concluded in 2017 when he entered a no contest plea to one felony count of aggravated assault, while the remaining felony charges were dropped. He also received probation in connection with misdemeanor charges and was sentenced under Georgia’s first offender provisions. That earlier case is part of the public record, but it does not establish guilt in the allegations he faces today. A past legal dispute may influence public perception, yet each case deserves to be judged on its own evidence.

My real worry has little to do with one wealthy entertainer. It sits with the young fella watching all of this unfold, soaking up the message that fame and money might place a man beyond accountability. He is learning whether a sister’s safety becomes negotiable the minute the name signing the checks is adored enough. Black men already carry an unfair fight through courtrooms and headlines, which is the very reason we cannot play loose with the truth whenever one of our own stands accused of hurting a woman. Protecting our image and excusing wrong behavior ride two different roads. Choose the first one every single time.

I keep circling back to Kendrick describing herself as a punching bag. We do not yet know how the courts will resolve these allegations or whether the case will reach a jury. The evidence must be examined, and the legal process must run its course. But somewhere tonight, somebody is living the painful experience those words describe, and she needs the people around her to recognize what is happening instead of dismissing it as another private disagreement. Nobody should have to wait for a celebrity trial to understand that domestic violence destroys lives.

So to my Brothers reading this, young ones and seasoned ones alike, take the lesson hiding inside an ugly situation. Guard your temper like the most valuable thing you own, because in the heated seconds that decide everything, it is. Love hard, argue when you must, and speak your piece. But keep your hands to yourself and your words respectful. Her trust is not something you shatter and glue back whole.

October 22 will mark another step in the legal proceedings, not necessarily an answer to every question surrounding this case. The courts will handle their portion, weighing the evidence and protecting the rights of everyone involved. Our portion, as Black men who claim to love this community, is to stop excusing behavior we would condemn the second it came through our own front door. Accountability does not require us to abandon the presumption of innocence, and fairness does not require us to remain silent about domestic violence. We can defend both principles without compromising either one. That responsibility does not wait on a judge. It begins with the standards we choose to live by.

Staff Writer; Jamar Jackson

This brother loves poetry, music, and the culture that raised him… His words come from somewhere honest, and they speak to everyday Black folks just living their lives… Reach him at JJackson@ThyBlackMan.com.

            Back in the 1990’s the Sounds of Blackness recorded a popular song entitled Be Optimistic, the lyrics in the first verse and chorus went like this:

When in the midst of sorrow
You can’t see up when looking down
A brighter day tomorrow will bring
You hear the voice of reason
Telling you this can never be done
No matter how hard reality seems
Just hold on to your dreams, yeah

Don’t give up and don’t give in
Although it seems you never win
You will always pass the test

As long as you keep your head to the sky

You can win asl long as you keep your head to the sky

You can win as long as you keep your head to the sky

Be optimistic.

            In the 2000’s I hosted an Internet radio program on two Internet radio stations called Message in the Music, I played artists who had a distinct positive social message, promoted higher consciousness, love, peace and activism artists like: Nina Simone, Bob Marley, Curtis Mayfield, Stevie Wonder, Earth Wind and Fire, Gil Scott Heron, Fela Anikulapo-Kuti, Public Enemy, Paris; artists who challenged the status quo and offered a brighter vision of life and the future.

Over the course of the several years I did the show I played a lot of Philadelphia International artists and songs. Gamble and Huff had a way of making positive songs and lyrics. I say this to say if our media diet included more positive and socially conscious songs, lyrics and images I know our lives would be fuller, more upbeat, positive, enthusiastic and healthy.

            There are so many streams and forms of media available to us these days. I suggest we be more discerning, discriminating and selective about the types of media we consume and expose ourselves and our families to! Media is everywhere, it’s ubiquitous and omnipresent. It’s on our gizmos and gadgets and all too often we are not even aware how this negative media content is impacting us, our thoughts, outlooks, perspectives, worldviews and behavior.

The powers who shouldn’t be know this and they use this to enhance their bottom lines and to further a nefarious agenda designed to create our reality, influence our behaviors, buying and behavior. It’s subliminal mind control.

We are not automatons, or Zombies despite the powers who shouldn’t be best efforts and attempts to disempower us. We are immensely powerful beings. We have agency we can choose to take back our minds and our lives. We don’t have to go out like that. We can control what we think about, we can choose to be hopeful, optimistic, powerful self-actualized, self-assured beings. Let’s give confidence and positivity a try. Be optimistic.

Written by Junious Ricardo Stanton

Official website; http://fromtheramparts.blogspot.com

That gap, between the father so many of us wanted and the man whose conduct has been examined in courtrooms, is the hardest thing to hold. I grew up watching that household on Thursday nights. Dr. Huxtable was a doctor, his wife a lawyer, their brownstone full of grown conversation and gentle correction. We had never seen ourselves framed quite like that on network television. The picture mattered. It told young Black men they could be tender and sharp at once, that a daddy could hug his son and still hand down a lesson with weight.

So where does that leave us now?

Bill Cosby is 89 and has largely withdrawn from public view. The longtime entertainer has lived in Elkins Park, outside Philadelphia. Age and declining health have taken their toll. He is legally blind, and his attorneys have described serious mobility problems. No packed comedy tour. No new television series drawing millions of viewers. His camp has floated the idea of a stage comeback more than once, yet nothing substantial has materialized. Instead, the headlines keep returning to lawyers, court judgments, and appeals.

This past spring made that plain. In March, a California jury found the comedian liable for drugging and sexually assaulting Donna Motsinger back in 1972, when she was waiting tables in Sausalito, north of San Francisco. The jury awarded her $59.25 million, including $40 million in punitive damages. Motsinger, now 84, had waited more than five decades for her day in court. “It’s about finally being heard and holding Mr. Cosby accountable,” she said afterward. Cosby has denied the allegation, and his legal team filed an appeal challenging the verdict.

Back up a minute. A Pennsylvania jury convicted the comedian in 2018 of aggravated indecent assault against Andrea Constand, a former Temple University employee, making him one of the first major celebrities convicted of a sexual offense during the #MeToo era. He spent nearly three years in state prison before Pennsylvania’s Supreme Court overturned that conviction in 2021. The decision did not declare him innocent. The justices ruled that prosecutors had violated his constitutional due process rights by bringing charges after an earlier district attorney had assured him he would not be prosecuted, a promise Cosby relied upon when testifying in a civil case. So the gates opened, not because a court had cleared his name, but because the state’s highest court concluded that his rights had been violated. Freedom under those circumstances leaves complicated feelings. And remember, at least 60 women have publicly accused Cosby of sexual misconduct, with allegations ranging from harassment to sexual assault. Sixty women, many carrying accounts of experiences they said had haunted them for decades.

A number like that quits being a he-said business. It starts carrying its own weight.

So here’s what sticks with me. Does loving the show mean I have to go to bat for the man who fronted it? Nah. I tread easy here, because plenty of brothers I respect land the other way. They look at a Black icon getting dragged and they feel that old familiar setup, the big name who climbed too high and got yanked down for it. I get the reflex. Lord knows our history gives us reason, full of proud folks taken apart by people who never once cared what was true. But that suspicion, honest as it is, cannot become a shield we hand to anyone who shares our skin. The women who came forward were somebody’s daughters. Many were sisters, cousins, and friends, carrying painful memories for decades while Cosby received Grammys and honorary degrees.

I keep coming back to a split that feels right. The art and the artist are not the same organism. Thursday nights in the eighties were real. Those scripts cracked open a door, and a generation of Black men walked through it carrying a new picture of what home could look like. That achievement belongs to the writers, the cast, Phylicia Rashad’s grace, the music, the whole crew who built a world. It does not sit in one person’s hands alone, and it does not get erased because the man in the cardigan has since been found liable for sexual assault in civil court.

What I refuse to do is pretend the two never touched. I believe the trust that character earned helped protect the public image of the man who played him. America’s Dad was more than a role. It became a reputation so powerful that accusations against the man behind it were difficult for many people to accept. That sweater and that smile bought a benefit of the doubt few ordinary men could ever expect, and I cannot help wondering how long that public affection kept uncomfortable questions from receiving the attention they deserved. Nobody wanted to question the man who raised the Huxtables every Thursday. A stranger accused of wrongdoing might face immediate suspicion. The country’s favorite father received years of admiration and loyalty. Pretending none of that mattered dismisses the pain of women who said their words carried little weight against a man America loved.

Can you carry both of those at once without one choking the other out? We’ve got no choice, the way I see it. I can watch a clip of Theo talking his way out of trouble and feel that old warmth, and in the same breath refuse to spend a dime or a drop of defense on the human being who played his daddy. Separating them is not forgiveness. Call it clarity instead. It lets us hold onto what was genuinely ours, the representation, the craft, the ritual, without lying to ourselves about the man whose name stood above the credits.

A cousin of mine put it better than I can. The show, she told me once, raised her expectations for how a daddy should move, and no courtroom can repossess that gift. My cousin is right about that. The lessons landed in us already. They belong to us now, not to him.

Still, I won’t sand down the hard edge just to feel better. A man can build something gorgeous and do something vile, and the gorgeous part doesn’t buy back the vile. We like our heroes spotless because spotless is easy. Most lives don’t hand you that. All you can do is sit in the mess of it and quit trying to talk yourself out of one half.

So picture the man up in that big quiet house, pushing ninety, facing a $59.25 million civil judgment while attorneys argue over assets, payments, and appeals. I cannot tell you how those remaining legal battles will end. What I do know is that no court decision can restore the uncomplicated affection America once had for him. Meanwhile, somewhere tonight, an old episode of The Cosby Show may still be playing, some living room lit blue, handing down lessons that now stand in painful contrast to what civil juries have found about the man who helped bring them to television.

Maybe that is the lesson we are left with: the good a man brings into the world does not erase the harm he leaves behind.

Staff Writer; Lee Walker

This brother is a fitness trainer with 12 years of experience, focused on building strength, clarity, and real health within the Black community. Through his writing, Mr. Walker hopes to uplift younger Black men and men in general through honest conversations about fitness, financial pressure, fatherhood, discipline, mental wellness, and the importance of brotherhood.

Have questions? Reach me at LeeW@ThyBlackMan.com.

E flatly said if she had prior knowledge of Sanders death before she performed she would never have gone on stage. “I’m sorry. You should have stopped the festival. This was uncalled for.” Continuing the festival seemed a callous disregard for the loss of a life.

E had good reason to be miffed and take a verbal pot shot at the city. It had nothing to do with the actual cause of death, the circumstances around her death, or even her death. It had everything to do with what Carson did not do and should have to prevent possible illness, injury or death at a public event held in mind boggling heat.

The starting point for pointing the blame finger at Carson is the heat advisory warning. City officials knew about it. The punishing heat wave started a couple of days before the festival. The warning, then, had been in effect continuously during this time. The potential danger of any outdoor event with masses of people present was enormous.

The. City with ample warning of the peril should have promptly swung into action. That should have included setting up a large number of free hydration stations, added air conditioned tents, cooling spaces, shade structures and even cool pavement spots. Every concert goer should have been informed about the facilities and their location. They should have been advised to immediately go to one at the first sign of a heat effect.

City officials should have beefed up the number of trained medical personnel, and trained spotters on watch and alert for any heat related exhaustion, dehydration, or sickness. They would escort those in need to an aid station.

Then there is the matter of Sanders’ body. It apparently remained covered in full public view of concertgoers for a period of time pending the arrival and approval by the coroner or authorized medical personnel. None of whom were immediately present. But given the potential heat danger and repeat warnings about the danger, they should have been.

Some respondents on social media, angered at the perceived mis steps with Sanders, saw greed and indifference in the tragedy. They claimed that this was just another instance of money, entertainment and a city’s narrow vested interest in pulling off a successful event callously trumping safety.

Sander’s death no matter what the final determination of the cause of death. is a painful and heartbreaking tragedy. It may well prove to be a death that even if city officials had taken every extra step necessary for safety still might have happened. But the brutal reality is that Carson had the ample warning of potential danger yet did not take the many extra steps needed to head off a potential tragedy such as Sanders. .

Again, Sheila E got it right.

Written By Earl Ofari Hutchinson

One can find more info about Mr. Hutchinson over at the following site; TheHutchinson Report.

Also feel free to connect with him through twitter; http://twitter.com/earlhutchins

He is also an associate editor of New America Media. His forthcoming book is From King to Obama: Witness to a Turbulent History (Middle Passage Press).

Note: You can now follow him on Substack; https://substack.com/@thehutchinsonreport/.

I keep thinking about what that smooth tenor meant to everyday people. For folks of a certain age, “You Are My Lady” was never background noise. That record was the slow drag at the house party, the number your uncle requested once he finally coaxed your auntie onto the floor, the melody slipping out a cracked car window on a Friday in July. Plenty of singers could handle a love song. Freddie made you fall for the whole idea again, even after the last one left you flat on your back.

Harlem raised him. Born in 1956, he cut his teeth on gospel over at White Rock Baptist Church, and that church stayed in his throat for good. You can hear it if you sit with the records. The way he reined a phrase in instead of showing off. How he’d hang on a breath a beat longer than you expected, then open the note up slow. Church teaches control long before it teaches flash, and this brother owned both ends of that.

Before any of the fame, he paid dues the honest way. This brother ran a stretch with the band Mystic Merlin. For a spell he backed Melba Moore, soaking up the business from the inside, studying how a true professional carried herself. Melba adored him right to the end, too. After the news broke, she put it plainly: “My heart is broken over the loss of a great singer and even a greater friend.” That wasn’t a tidy press line. Melba lost somebody she’d come up next to, and it showed.

If you want to know why so many people are hurting tonight, go back to 1985. That was the year “Rock Me Tonight (For Old Times’ Sake)” sat at number 1 on the R&B chart and would not move for 6 weeks running. A debut almost never hits like that. Here was a grown soul with a mature sound at a time when the dial stayed crowded with whatever was flashy that month. Everybody else kept turning the clubs up louder. Freddie went the other direction entirely, into the slow stuff, the after hours, the bedroom and the heartache and the long road back to each other.

The hits kept rolling from there. “Have You Ever Loved Somebody.” “Jam Tonight.” “Tasty Love.” “Nice ‘n’ Slow,” which handed him an American Music Award in ’88. A pair of Grammy nods landed on that mantle as well. The New York Times once pegged him among Black pop’s most elegant performers, somebody who could lift a heartbreak song into a whole philosophy, and honestly that read is dead on.

Here’s a truth we rarely say out loud. Black Men of his generation needed a figure like him, needed to witness a man romantic without apology, tender without shame, strong and soft in a single breath. That representation mattered more than people admit. In a world forever flattening brothers into one hard, guarded note, he gave voice to the entire spectrum of us. The yearning. That bottomless devotion. And the quiet shame of wanting to do right by somebody yet coming up short anyway.

His footprint stretched past the turntable, naturally. Freddie teamed with Irene Cara on “Love Survives” for All Dogs Go to Heaven. You might catch him charming Sophia in a lounge on The Golden Girls, or popping up on Family Matters, and “Rock Me Tonight” later turned up in Love & Basketball for a crowd that discovered him a touch later. Even Outkast tipped a cap. Big Boi slid a nod to him into “So Fresh, So Clean,” holding the crooner up as the living picture of unbothered cool, the kind that keeps its own climate no matter the weather outside. That’s the sort of immortality the culture grants on its own terms, one bar at a time.

What gets me most is this. Jackson never coasted. Long after the industry’s eye wandered off, he was still in the studio, still putting records out, My First Love landing in 2023. What he chased next were stages close enough to see every face looking back. The big rooms stopped suiting him and he admitted it flat out, saying he’d rather a night feel like you walked into his living room and took a seat. During the pandemic he started a podcast and got to talking straight with his people. By 2022, a radio show was on his mind too. Fresh ideas stayed on the stove, same warmth behind them as always.

A hard season came too, and he met it well. Back in 2024 he let the world know he was dealing with kidney disease. A lot of folks would’ve gone silent and private with news like that. Freddie didn’t. Instead he stepped out front of it, put his name behind kidney awareness, and said he meant to meet the fight with his faith intact and his feet under him.

I won’t pretend the man and I were close. The voice, though, I knew the way you know a sound that scored your finest and your lowest seasons. First dances. Ugly breakups. Those long drives where a tune on the dial felt like the only thing on earth that understood you. That is the peculiar gift of an artist like this one. Freddie becomes part of the furniture in your memory, woven into the architecture of how you loved and lost and gathered yourself to try one more time.

So tonight I’m digging the old albums out of the crate. I’m letting “You Are My Lady” spin again, good and loud, exactly the way it was built to. Somewhere out there a grown man sits in a parked car, letting it ride all the way through before he heads inside, thinking hard about somebody he hasn’t laid eyes on in 20 years. That is Freddie’s work. It’s the inheritance he hands every one of us.

Frederick Anthony Jackson leaves behind a sound we will keep passing down long after the headlines fade. Rest easy, king. The quiet storm is yours forever now, and yes, we will surely miss you, even though that velvet never fully clears a room once it’s played. Thank you for every last note.

Staff Writer; Jamar Jackson

This brother loves poetry, music, and the culture that raised him… His words come from somewhere honest, and they speak to everyday Black folks just living their lives… Reach him at JJackson@ThyBlackMan.com.

After watching the Netflix series A Different World: New Generation, I observed and listened to the reactions of the Black community regarding the changes in the physical appearances of the actors, as well as our collective perception that the series’ plot lacked depth and originality, without giving much thought to the statistical data that roughly only 20-40% of Black Americans who are children of college graduates go on to graduate themselves, while 20-30% of Black children from non-college graduate households attain a degree. If we do not acknowledge that the college graduation rates for Black children with college-educated parents are not significantly higher than those from homes where parents did not graduate, then we are missing depth and complexity. I wonder how much more depth we truly need as a community. Should we seek entertainment when we watch television? Or should we challenge ourselves to see entertainment for what it truly is, understanding that some deeper meanings can only be appreciated with a little extra perspective—like a third eye—developed through a mind trained to recognize subtle depths that might not be immediately obvious?

Things will never be the same.

We are all familiar with the statement The more things change, the more things stay the same. Yes, I will be the first to admit that our level of respect in the Black community for our elders, ancestors, Black men, and Black women has changed, and I am afraid that if we don’t make drastic changes quickly, things will never be the same. Longevity and a long life have traditionally been valued in our community, along with the natural changes that come with aging—like grey hair, hair loss, weight fluctuations, a changing physique, wrinkles, and shifts in appearance. These aspects were once embraced and even revered, reflecting the wisdom and experience that age brings. Historically, our community appreciated and celebrated Black women in roles like Big Momma or auntie.

However, today, even prominent women such as Jasmine Guy, Jill Scott, Viola Davis, Michelle Obama, and Leslie Jones, among many others, face ridicule both inside and outside the community for not fitting our narrow aesthetic standards as they age.  Seasoned Black women and men might start questioning whether aging is as remarkable as their ancestors suggested if their community no longer finds them aesthetically appealing. Historically, we treasured Big Momma and our aunties equally, regardless of their appearance, and we held the men in our community in high regard despite their decline in vitality. Some community members might argue that because we have largely failed to recognize the beauty in our Savior (Isaiah 53:2-4), we may also fail to see beauty in one another as we ought to. Moving forward, our community must acknowledge, embrace, and appreciate the ongoing physical changes everyone will eventually undergo.

Don’t say anything at all.

Even within the Black community, we live in an era where people seek visibility, voice, and viral fame for their opinions and ideas, often without regard for the facts. Has our desire for fame, recognition, and riches overtaken the lessons we were taught as children to value and esteem others? The great, soulful singer Jeffrey Osborne reminded us all, “If my brother or sister is in trouble, so I am.” How have we descended to such a low point that we now perceive our community, our brothers and sisters, as burdensome, leading us to justify exploiting them in some manner or form for personal gain?  Our personal and community desire for worldly gain has caused us to loudly criticize the image, reputation, and social influence of Black women when they don’t match our beauty standards.

Similarly, Black men who speak their mind are often labeled as sassy, and our LGBTQ+ sisters and brothers are frequently viewed as unworthy of recognition because, to many of us, we feel we must voice our opinions without all the facts. Remember childhood, when we learned an important lesson: if you don’t have anything nice to say, it’s better to stay silent. Those moments shape how we connect with others even today. I’m not asking that we become mute to injustices, sin, or wrong, or that we stop speaking truth to power. For the sake of our community, I am asking that we stop speaking without facts and stop speaking in ways that strip away anyone’s humanity for riches and viral fame. Sometimes silence is the best option.

Time to Operate Differently

Are we in a different era than before? Yes, we are. A clear sign is that our love for ourselves and our community is either weak or missing. The dynamic duo of Donny Hathaway and Roberto Flack raised the question in 1972 by asking, “Where Is the Love?” Today, I ask once again: Where Is the Love? For yourself, your community, and your God—like time, many believe it has shifted or grown tired. Yes, time brings about a change, but with change comes the chance for new opportunities. Since today gives all of us a new opportunity, I challenge all my Black queens and kings to operate differently: queens, go back to being a girl’s girl who uplifts her sister and brother. Keep aiming high when others go low. Kings, I urge you to stay consistent, present, and vocal, as your family and community rely on you to embody these qualities and more.  The cost is too high for us to go back to our old ways or stay the same. Change is possible, and we all need it.

Five Affirmations

1. I choose to see value in myself and others beyond appearance, status, or popularity.
2. I will honor the wisdom of those who came before me and help build a stronger future for those who come after me.
3. I speak with truth, facts, and compassion, knowing that my words have the power to heal or harm.
4. I embrace change as an opportunity to grow while remaining rooted in my values and identity.
5. I will operate with love, respect, and purpose, even when the world encourages division and selfishness.

Three Quotes to Live By

1. “Time changes everything, but character determines what remains.”
2. “Before speaking, ask yourself: Is it true? Is it necessary? Is it kind?”
3. “A community grows stronger when its people choose dignity over popularity and love over criticism.”

Two Courses of Action

1. Practice Intentional Encouragement

Commit to uplifting at least one person each day. Encourage an elder, support a young person pursuing education, celebrate a friend’s achievement, or defend someone’s dignity when they are being unfairly criticized. Small acts of affirmation help rebuild community trust and respect.

2. Lead With Facts and Humanity

Before sharing an opinion online or in conversation, pause and ask:

• Do I have all the facts?
• Does my comment preserve this person’s humanity?
• Am I helping solve a problem or simply adding noise?

If the answer is no, choose reflection over reaction. Thoughtful silence is often more powerful than uninformed commentary.

Staff Writer; Jamie Seals

May also connect with this brother on Twitter; mychocolatemind.

Also drop an email at; JSeals@ThyBlackMan.com.