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A White Horse Named Woke

My sisters are nine and seven years younger than me.

As a teen, I would sit and listen to their problems. I focused on how I could be helpful or what a potential solution was and when I could, I would, with all the years of worldly experience I had at 17, tell them exactly how to fix it.

“Oh, Micah, shut up! You don’t understand!” followed by a slamming door.

It always left me perplexed. I was just trying to be helpful.

“But you aren’t.”

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