“Before You Throw It, See the Man.”
A Proclamation from Granddaddy’s Study

Come close, family. Sit upright. This one’s from Granddaddy.
From the part of me that’s watched too many of you forget yourselves in the act of blame.

Let me say it clear so it don’t get twisted by your pride:
We are not above the sins we condemn.
Not a one of us.

It’s easy to play holy when the light’s on someone else.
To point, perform, posture, and prove.
But listen close—
You ain’t clean because you ain’t caught.

We’ve all lied.
We’ve all betrayed some truth.
We’ve all had moments we hoped no one ever found out about.

So don’t let the headlines trick you into thinking you’re different.
You’re not a saint just because your shadows stayed small.
You’re just fortunate they ain’t had the resources to grow louder.

Now this doesn’t mean we don’t hold each other accountable.
But around here, we see the man before we throw the stone.
We ask: “What system made him this way?”
We ask: “Where in me is that same hunger, ache, or avoidance hiding?”
And we remember:

Justice without compassion becomes performance.
And punishment without introspection is ego dressed in robes.

That’s not how the Djordjes do it.
We don’t moralize to feel tall.
We don’t cancel our kin just because the world told us to.
We recalibrate them—if they’re willing.
And we protect our spirit in the process.

So when you’re tempted to tear someone down to feel righteous,
ask yourself first:

What part of you are you trying to outrun?

Because around here, we don’t punish to feel powerful.
We witness, we warn, and we walk in truth.
And if someone’s lost their way?

We don’t forget our reflection just because theirs cracked.

— Signed, Granddaddy Djordje
Study closed. Spirit open.

"Words gon' either build a man or break him. You choose what yours gon' do."

Let me talk to you a minute, Black man. Because we got this word... nigga... that's got more layers than your grandma's sweet potato pie. It's heavy. It's hot. And it's holy, depending on how you use it. But don't get it twisted—just 'cause it's common, don’t mean it’s casual.

“You my nigga.”
That’s kinfolk talk. That’s a covenant in one sentence. Said from the soul, it means: I see you. I got you. We been through some thangs and I’m still with you. That’s a bond. You say that when your spirit recognizes another real one.

Use it to uplift. Use it to hold. That’s a word that ties roots together.

“You bein’ a nigga.”
Now that’s a warning. It means: You swervin’. You wildin’. You out here actin’ like your spirit ain’t sacred. When said with love, it’s a mirror. But don’t weaponize it to belittle or shame. Use it when it’s time to help a brother recalibrate,not crush him.

“Niggers.”
Don’t play. That’s not our word to reclaim. That’s a bullet in the form of a syllable. That word was meant to erase you. Leave that in the mouths of those who don't carry your blood or your burden. It ain’t yours to breathe life into. We don’t water weeds.

“That nigga right there…”
Now that’s flavor. That’s Black poetry in motion. Said with admiration, said with rhythm. That’s when you see a brother do something so raw, so precise, so beautiful—it demand a declaration. Just make sure when you say it, you mean it. Don’t throw it around for foolishness.

Now listen. You don’t gotta stop sayin’ it. You just gotta know what you’re sayin’.

Don’t use sacred words sloppy. Don’t pull your brother down tryna look cool. Don’t repeat what the world taught you if it don’t serve your legacy.

You’re not just talkin’. You’re building memory. You’re speaking spells. Make 'em righteous.

Speak like your ancestors are listening. ‘Cause they are.

— Grandaddy

It all begins with an idea. Maybe you want to launch a business. Maybe you want to turn a hobby into something more. Or maybe you have a creative project to share with the world. Whatever it is, the way you tell your story online can make all the difference.