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.”