Coming Home

by Brittney Griner

If you have nothing else in this life, you have your good name, your rep.

There’s gotta be something bigger than just this. By “just this,” I meant our time on earth. I didn’t know if there was a heaven, or even a God, but I thought I’d find out for myself. I started in Genesis. Somewhere around Leviticus I nodded off.

I cried not just because I’d failed Mom and Pops, but also because I felt I’d shamed my people.

Stay out of my underwear. Stay out of my tits. Stay out of my private life.

You can withstand just about any shame so long as your tribe stands with you.

A slogan isn’t just a slogan. It frames your story, just like race does mine.

When deciding whether a hostage deserves our compassion, we consider that person’s characteristics and whether he or she seems to blame for being captured. Those viewed as the most blameless garner the greatest support. But if there’s even a hint of culpability, good luck with getting pity. Also, in the eyes of some, my Blackness alone made me guilty.

The roots of Black skepticism go back generations in a country that hasn’t always had our backs; it was too busy breaking them.

I knelt because the values signaled by our flag didn’t align with how Black people were treated.

My kneeling was a sign of just how much I love our country. My ancestors helped build this nation. My father spent his career defending it. I take pride in being American, especially after being imprisoned in a country where public dissent can get you killed. Here, freedom of speech is our right. Exercising that right makes me more of an American, not less. Sit. Stand. Kneel. Protest. The beauty of our homeland is that we have a choice.