By the time I was 18 years old, 10 young Black males that I knew had died from tragedy. Murder was the leading cause for the majority of the deaths. Before the age of 25; more would soon follow. I didn't really know what to make of this while I was maturing into a young woman. But it was having a tremendous psychological impact on me. Every single summer, I expected someone to die. My generation was in peril. Hip Hop was the soundtrack of life in young Black America and its more negative components were taking root through the imagery of Gangsta Rap. Once party driven rhythms were being outplayed by angry bass tones, braggadocios Black masculinity, bold, angry, and unapologetic of depicting life in the inner city. This had great impact on the minds of young Black males around the world. The drug culture was permeating American society and in my once quiet suburban community; I would soon see faces and things that would have a tremendous impact on how my neighborhood would be viewed and how it would change the way I thought. One day I woke up and literally realized that The American Black male was a brand which was largely created through the machination and minds of racist white males. Through the construct of media, the Black man would always be portrayed as the enemy--a predator to be feared, suspected and hated. It would seem that many Black males have believed this about themselves. This attitude has seemed to put them at war with the one ally they need: The Black Woman. Someone once said that the richest place on earth was not an oil field or a gold mine; it was a cemetery. Why? Because cemeteries were filled with people who never lived up to their potential and I felt that every time a young Black man died from violence or tragedy; the Black community and the world suffered. So I posed a bold question: Do Black men know who they are? Do they know how much they mean to Black women? To their mothers, sisters, aunts, grandmothers? There is a battle being waged against the Black male in America. But is the real war against the Black man within? I wondered to myself if Black men really know how much they are valued? A man that does not know himself is like tumbleweed: unrooted, the wind blowing it through the desert in every direction without purpose. The genesis of this book began on a popular Black website. The conversations that I created and debated became the catalyst of book that was and is truly a broader conversation stemmed from the various issues discussed on that site. This is not yet another neck twistin', finger snapping book from an angry Black woman with an ax to grind against Black men; it's a love story, conversation, and spiritual book, designed to educate and empower young Black males--taking them on an interesting journey through my mind, as I try to understand the dynamics of the Black man and his impact on his woman, his community, and the world in which he lives. This is my personal journal of conversations, debates and insights on issues that I have observed over many years, and my perceptions of them as a Black woman, discussing frankly, my interpretation of relevant issues that impact Black men, socially, politically and psychologically.