Dear God, It's Me, Panama (Again). I See Rain in the Forecast for Spelhouse Homecoming This Weekend (Again). Let's Talk (Again)

SpelHouse Homecoming 2018
SpelHouse Homecoming 2018
Photo: Panama Jackson

Dear God,

What’s up, Big Homie—is it okay if I refer to you as such? I have no idea if the pronouns conversation has made it into religion yet, though I’m pretty sure it’s coming. I think for simplicity’s sake, I’ll stick with convention and you can correct me in the comments.


Again, what up, Big Homie? SpelHouse Homecoming 2019—that beautiful, unificatious homecoming weekend for both Spelman and Morehouse Colleges—is upon us. It is, in fact, this very weekend down in Atlanta. You know the deal by this point. All of us who attend Morehouse are taught that God (you) created Earth and then created Morehouse, so I imagine you would have our annual homecoming weekend marked off on your heavenly calendar, such as that exists. Existence is a splendid thing, no? I mean, it’s like all questions are existential if you really think about it. Like, what is existence, ya know? I ponder this question daily, and twice on Sundays.

Let me cut the malarkey; I’m rambling because I’m afraid to ask, again, for another favor. You see, last year, I wrote you a letter asking you to make the rain, rain, go away (I also did my due diligence and sang the “Rain, Rain, Go Away” song daily along with my children when they were available). And God, you made it happen.

The Saturday of the tailgate was damn near perfect. Maaaaybe there was a sprinkle? But it didn’t stop the show. It was basically a perfect day in Atlanta. And everybody who was there last year knows it because for that entire two weeks beforehand every last one of us was on our weather apps DAILY, stressing over the fact that rain was clearly in the forecast. I’m fairly certain you’ve never received a collective prayer that week leading up like you did last year. Folks were hopping on phone calls to do group prayers, I saw prayer FB groups (I may or may not be making this up) and WhatsApp groups. The hopes and prayers were strong.

And you made it happen. Everybody was down on Westview Drive and Spelman Lane in southwest Atlanta getting our best life all day with all of the brown liquors and smiles possible. The barbecue was grilled to perfection, the pangs of regret were ample, the hugs of possibility were pouring with abundance. If only we could work on that cell phone reception issue—folks would be able to find each other a little better instead of getting a barrage of texts as SOON as we reached the Popeyes on Lee Street from folks we’d have loved to have seen but who’ve been lost to another Memory of Homecomings Past.

BUT, your Godliness, your Holiness, your One-Thirdness but Really Three-Thirdness of the Holy Trinity, one miracle at a time will suffice. I’ll live without cell phone service between the hours of say, 2 p.m and 6:30 p.m. if I don’t get drenched in the holiest of waters while trying to wade through the Black Excellence Waters of West End Avenue.

Also, while I’m thinking of it, can you PLEASE make sure that the probably otherwise very smart, good decision-making black folks who tried to get that golf cart down West End Avenue at like 4 p.m. don’t do that stupid shit again? They turned what is usually a 15-minute surf through the crowd to move 100 feet into a 30-minute surf through the crowd to move 100 feet. And I’m pretty sure I saw a child (can’t remember if it was a little boy or girl) on that golf cart who I’m sure is not going to Morehouse or Spelman after that traumatic experience.


To cut a long story short, God, it looks like its gon’ rain for real from this Friday through The Foreseeable Future on My Weather App in Atlanta, and if we could push that off until Sunday, say around 4 p.m. when I figure most people will be chillin’ or on their way to the airport or already back home because their spouses really didn’t want them to go in the first place but they agreed as long as they got back home mad early on Sunday morning, it would be so greatly appreciated. I’ll cc Mother Nature and The Black Homecoming Gods on this correspondence and if there’s anybody else I should send my letter to, please advise.

I will bring my poncho and some anointed libations just to be on the safe side. And look, if I’m being real, you’ve done SO much for me already it almost feels gratuitous asking again, but here I am. My grandma always told me to take it to the Lord in prayer. I’m not entirely sure if she meant “no rain during homecoming” when she said “it,” but she didn’t NOT say that either so, yeah. You hooked me, us and the black community up last year. Thank you.


Run it back????

Sincerely and respectfully yours,

Panama (and the rest of the Spelhouse Community)

Panama Jackson is the Senior Editor of Very Smart Brothas. He's pretty fly for a light guy. You can find him at your mama's mama's house drinking all her brown liquors.


Murry Chang

I wish I’d gone to a high school or college that I’d have even a slight desire to revisit on Homecoming weekend.

When I drive past my old high school I flip it off though, because fuck them.  The less said about the quality of education offered by Penn State the better, let’s just say I was there for the awesome Graham Spanier years.