Let me start with something most people won't say.

Black History Month is bullsh*t.

Not because it doesn't matter. Not because the history isn't real or important or worth knowing. But because in 2026, we should not need a designated month to teach the truth about this country.

It should be in every classroom. Every curriculum. Every dinner table conversation. Every history book. Not as a footnote. Not as a special segment. As American history. Because that's exactly what it is.

Now… with that said?

Thank God it exists!

Because if Dr. Carter G. Woodson hadn't fought to preserve it when he did, we would have lost it. The speeches. The inventions. The stories. The research. The names of people who built things you use every single day without knowing who made them. All of it would be gone. So I have nothing but respect for what he built and why he built it.

Both things are true. And I'm done pretending they're not.

Now let me get personal. Because this episode isn't just about Black History Month.

It's about me. It's about my boys. And it's about a question I've been quietly sitting with for a long time…

How do you raise Black children to know who they are when you're still figuring out parts of it yourself?

I'm light skinned. Look at me in the winter and you might not clock it immediately. See me in the summer? Different story. But here's what I've lived my whole life. If you're Black at all, you're too dark for the white side. And if you're light skinned, you're too white for the Black side. If you're somewhere in the middle, mixed, light skinned, biracial, mulatto, whatever label people want to put on it… you just kind of float. No cultural home base. Pulled in two directions. Claimed by neither fully.

That's not a complaint. That's just the reality. And I'm tired of acting like it isn't.

I grew up raised by a white mother in Omaha. Predominantly white neighborhood. Predominantly white schools. Westside High, My father was in and out, The Black side of my family wasn't really present. So the Black history, the culture, the stories… they weren't coming from home. And they damn sure weren't coming from school either. So I grew into a man who is Black, who loves being Black, who is proud to be Black, but who has real gaps. Real holes in the history that should've been mine.

And now I have to pass something down that I'm still collecting myself.

That's the weight I carry as a father. And I'm not going to pretend it's easy.

My boys are lighter than me.

They get dark in the summer too. We all do. But they're that next generation. That new crop of kids where the lines are even less defined visually. And here's the truth that doesn't make it easier. They are still Black children in America. And America still has something to say about that whether we like it or not.

Luckily, racism doesn't get a seat at my table. If it shows up around me or their mother, it gets handled. Period. But I also know I can't be everywhere. And one day they're going to have to navigate it themselves. So what do I do right now to prepare them?

I teach through food.

I know that might sound simple. But think about it. Food is the one thing that has always brought people together across every culture, every language, every border. My boys will eat anything. Butter chicken. Sushi. Hawaiian plates. Mexican street food. Anything Asian. You name it, they're in. And every time we sit down to eat something new, we talk about it. Where it comes from. Who makes it. What it means to the people who created it. What their lives look like. What they've been through.

That's culture. That's history. That's empathy built one meal at a time.

I also teach through travel. We go places. We get uncomfortable. We see how other people live, what they value, what they've built. You cannot truly understand what someone else is going through until you've stood in their world, even briefly. That goes for race, for class, for culture, for everything. Travel breaks the walls down. And I want my boys to grow up with no walls.

Is it perfect? No. I'll be the first to admit I don't do a great job of sitting them down and walking through Black history the way I should. I'm learning too. But I show up. I stay curious. And I keep the conversation honest.

That's all any of us can do.

Here's what I need you to hear before you close this email.

The history is being erased. Right now. Quietly. Right here in Iowa, in Ankeny, books are being revised. Curriculum is being gutted. And in the South? It's been happening for years. They are literally rewriting what gets taught to the next generation and most people aren't paying attention because it doesn't affect them directly.

It affects all of us.

If we don't understand where we came from, all of us, every color, every background, we cannot move forward with a clear picture. We keep making the same mistakes. We keep having the same fights. We keep hiding the bad and ignoring the good and wondering why nothing ever changes.

So as Black History Month wraps up, don't just post a quote and call it done. Do the research. Learn something you didn't know last year. Teach your kids something real. Have a conversation at dinner that makes someone think. Pick up a book. Watch a documentary. Listen to an episode like this one.

If you're light skinned like me, you already know everything I said is true. You've lived it. You're probably nodding your head right now.

If this is new to you… good. Welcome to the conversation. Go find a light skinned friend and ask them about it. I promise you they have stories.

And if you're white, Hispanic, Asian, mixed, whatever… this history belongs to you too. Because it's American history. And we don't get to pick and choose which parts we claim.

Episode 31 of Let's Get Real is live right now.

This is my most personal episode yet. No guests. No filter. Just me being completely real about identity, culture, colorism, Black history, and what it means to raise Black boys in 2026.

Go watch it. Go listen. And share it with someone who needs to hear it.