A Year That Carried Me Forward

Reflections at the Threshold of 2026

Some years pass quietly, slipping into memory without much ceremony. And then some years arrive with a kind of insistence, years that ask something of you, shape you, and ultimately reveal who you’ve become in the long arc of your own story.

This was one of those years.

As I sit with the final days of 2025, I feel the weight and wonder of a season that moved with both urgency and grace. It was a year of work, honest work, the kind that calls on your history, your discipline, your imagination, and your faith in the possibility of community. It was a year that asked me to stretch, to remember, to organize, to write, to speak, and to stand in places I once only dreamed of entering.

And it was a year that reminded me that legacy is not a distant concept. It is something we build in real time, with real people, in rooms where decisions are made and memories are shaped.

If I had to choose a single moment that anchored 2025, it would be the 50th Legacy Celebration — a gathering that was more than an event. It was a homecoming, a reckoning, and a testament to the long reach of justice.

To stand in the same chambers where I once petitioned for fairness as a young activist, and to hear the mayor proclaim December 12th as Harold Michael Harvey Day, was a moment that folded time in on itself. It was not simply an honor; it was a reminder that the seeds planted in youth can bear fruit decades later, often in ways we could never predict.

Alas, the town radical returned home to honor the legacy of Willie C. Hill, Delores Brooks, Julius Vinson, Vernon Colbert, and Rev. Eddie D. Smith, Sr. was surprised with a day named in his honor for not forgetting the history of a city that issued a shoot to kill order to shut down peaceful demonstrations following the assassination of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.

An order that caused my mother to forbid me to go outside for fear of the hate that destroyed the dreamer would defer the dream of her young, quizzical-minded son before he had a chance to pick it up.

But the celebration was not just about me. It was about the Fantasy Five — about the courage of four Black men and one Black woman who refused to accept the world as it was handed to them. It was about the community that held us, challenged us, and ultimately recognized the arc of our contribution.

And it was about the work behind the scenes:

• crafting inscriptions that distilled half a century of struggle into a few resonant lines
• shaping a ceremony that balanced dignity with warmth
• drafting contracts and receipts that kept the event grounded in professionalism
• weaving individual tributes into a shared story of civic transformation

This was not glamorous work. It was deliberate, meticulous, and deeply human. And it reminded me that storytelling, whether on a plaque, in a ceremony, or on the page, is one of the most powerful tools we have for shaping public memory.

A year like this does not pass without cost. There were long nights, difficult decisions, and the emotional weight of revisiting histories that still carry heat. There were moments when the work felt larger than the hours available, when the responsibility of honoring others pressed against the limits of my own energy.

But the rewards were equally profound—the faces in the room. The voices lifted in recognition. The pumped-up chest, the smiles, the laughter, the shrimp and bourbon-infused grits. The sense that something had been restored, clarified, or carried forward.

These are the moments that remind me why I write, why I organize, and why I continue to show up for the work of memory and justice. They are reminders that legacy is not a solitary pursuit; it is a collective act.

As I turn toward the coming year, I feel a renewed clarity. Not the clarity of rigid plans or resolutions, but the clarity of purpose.

In 2026, I intend to return to the page with a more focused approach. Some stories need telling;  stories about America’s ongoing struggle to reconcile its ideals with its realities, stories about the people who push history forward, stories about the quiet labor of justice that rarely makes headlines but always shapes the future.

I want to write with greater intention, courage, and generosity. I want to explore the intersections of memory, law, community, and personal history. I want to continue the work of transforming lived experience into public understanding. I want to write the next great American novel, which makes sense of the sound and fury between the 1956 Brown v. Board of Education case and the destruction of American democracy in the first quarter of the 21st century.

And I want to invite readers, old and new, into a conversation that is not just about the past, but about the world we are still building.

If you’ve walked with me this year through the planning, the writing, the reflection, the celebration, know that I carry your presence with me. None of this work happens alone.

As we step into 2026, I am grateful for the journey behind us and hopeful for the one ahead. May the coming year bring clarity where there has been confusion, courage where there has been hesitation, community where there has been isolation, and funding to continue doing the work I do to make the planet a better place for all creatures, big and small.

And may we continue, together, to shape a legacy worthy of those who came before us and those who will follow.