My Guardian Angel

I have friends who dream novel worthy dreams. Dreams filled with potential love, ass-kicking heroes, and heroines in apocalyptic settings. I have friends who dream of meeting celebrity crushes and discovering they are standing naked before an audience before a huge event in their life. I even have friends who dream that Trump lost the election. I dream of laughter, music and on occasion God and angels. We always have the greatest convos. FYI God is a Linkin Park fan. Last week I dreamt with my guardian angel.
Anyone who knows me personally can tell you I have a gift for getting myself into some hairy situations. From getting caught in shootouts to being chased by a gang of deaf-mutes my guardian angel has been working overtime since the day I was born.
In the dream, I found myself in an office with no clue as to how I got there. The place reminded me of a film noir private eye office. I was ushered in by a tall blonde with huge boobs and a tight pencil skirt. My guardian angel sat behind a desk smoking a cigar and gave me a slight nod by way of greeting.
Everything about him screamed bad ass this was so not my grandma’s guardian angel, no flowy white robe, no blinding white wings or long hair. My guardian angel looked like the criminal type. I was impressed and said so out loud. “My hair didn’t start turning white until you were born, it used to be jet black”.
I woke up laughing.



A couple of weeks ago our six-year-old was getting her hair done for school as we watched NFL player Michael Bennett being interviewed on TV. Mr. Bennett was describing a recent incident in which he was the victim of police brutality by Vegas police, “ I felt helpless as I lay there on the ground handcuffed facing the real-life threat of being killed. All I could think of was “I’m going to die for no other reason than I am black and my skin color is somehow a threat.” My life flashed before my eyes as I thought of my girls. Would I ever play with them again? Or watch them have kids? Or be able to kiss my wife again and tell her I love her?”

Chloe’s ears perked up during this and she glanced at her sister and then herself. Chloe is fair skinned while her 3-year-old sister Sofia is tanned like me. “Does this mean I have to be extra careful with Sofia if I see the police ?” I wanted to say no while my brain screamed yes but I didn’t trust myself to have that talk right then and there with minutes left before she had to head out to school. Instead with tears in my eyes, I changed the subject by asking her what color bow she wanted in her hair.

That was the incident that inspired this piece.