As the temperature heats up, so do the cultural programs offered by CNP and our partners. As the only Black, gay nonprofit committed to using storytelling to shift narratives about the lives of Black gay men to influence policy and save lives, our mission is deeply embedded in the stories, events, and national observances filling our calendar over the next few months. We’re excited to share a preview of some of the hottest CNP events that we hope you will add to your summer calendar. They are curated to inform, entertain, and celebrate the Black LGBTQ+ community. At CNP and on The Reckoning, we believe in elevating the best of who we are. These events reflect the brilliance that we hold. We hope to see you there!

Author Doug Cooper Spencer, 67, almost let the opportunity to fall in love again pass him by. In 1998, sitting in Fountain Square, a busy plaza in downtown Cincinnati, as he continued to work on his first novel, he noticed someone walking by.

“I saw these nice legs walk past, and I glanced at them, like, ‘Oh, he’s got nice legs.’ That's it—because I'm an introvert,” he said.

Doug had dissolved a relationship a year and a half prior and wanted to focus on writing. While glancing up from the legs that caused his temporary distraction, he caught the eye of the person to whom those legs were attached.

“He catches me [looking up] and he stops and I'm like, oh God, here we go. No, I do not want to be bothered,” Doug recalls thinking to himself.

Any attempt to make it through a conversation with comedian Sampson McCormick without laughter will fail. The trailblazing gay comedian has delighted and challenged audiences with his spirited brand of Black queer comedy for over two decades. McCormick’s Atlanta fans will have the chance to experience him live during a special Black History Month appearance: “Black Joy: A Night of Laughter with Sampson,” on February 23 at MIXX Atlanta. This time around, McCormick says he’s being intentional about centering Black joy.

“As a community, we need to place an emphasis on our joy, on our ability to embrace the experiences that we have and celebrate those with reflection through laughter,” he said.

Until recently, McCormick has been the only openly, gay Black male comedian, touring the country, performing at major comedy clubs, and headlining shows.

“There’s still not a lot of us. And I’m talking about headliners that can go to the comedy clubs and carry a show all weekend. I'm still one of the only ones who can do that,” he said.

A lot has changed since Deontez Wimbley first walked into the Chilli’s restaurant in the Lindbergh section of Buckhead in April 2016. Today, the restaurant is permanently closed, but nearly six years later, the connection he made with Jerald Nuness, then a server, and now his husband, proved to be worth the risk of being rejected. Like customers who frequently tipped less than the standard 20% or not at all, Nuness says he was accustomed to being hit on at work, and Wimbley, who also worked in the restaurant industry for a period, knew the odds of the conversation moving beyond a two for $20 were slim to none, or so he thought.

Growing up in the Caribbean nation of British Guyana, Christopher Inniss, Doctor of Veterinary Medicine and Area Chief of Staff at Banfield Pet Hospital in Lawrenceville, GA, had no blueprint for a career in his chosen field. Of the veterinarians he was exposed to, not a single one matched the reflection he saw when he looked in the mirror. Now decades later, Inniss is becoming a role model for aspiring veterinarians during a crucial time when there is an industry shortage and an even greater shortage of Black veterinarian students and professionals.

I knew I was not alone. I had spoken to other Black gay men who were caregiving, but it was not something that was often discussed openly. Caregiving can be a very solitary role, where you end up isolated, and unable to find an outlet for all the emotions that you’re experiencing. Because, for some, you are caregiving 24 hours, and unable to leave your care recipient.

I was taught growing up that men were the providers, and as a Black man, I was supposed to leave the home to earn a living to take care of my family. The emotional and physical care wasn’t something I was taught would be my burden to carry. The truth is, there was never going to be any other way this would go. My parents have two sons. We were going to have to shoulder this burden or consider a home for our parents.

We met at a friend's Super Bowl party over 10 years ago. I’m no real fan of the sport although I will check out the phyne players on either team. When it comes to the Super Bowl, I am only really down for a fabulous halftime show. In 2007, Prince did the honors and his royal badness did not let us down. I noticed this brother a few minutes before my friend introduced us. Within minutes, we found ourselves a little corner off the kitchen where we could focus without interruption. He was playful and blunt about his desires, and that turned me on. “I don’t like no bread,” he told me. “Just give me the meat.”

During a time when social media and digital apps have made it easier for people to connect, many of its users report never feeling more alone. It’s a complicated dichotomy that has forced many Black gay men to make tough decisions about their future and whether it will include a romantic life partner.

If you spend any amount of time on social media throughout the day, your timeline has most likely been inundated with photos of smiling first-time home buyers, many of whom identify as LGBTQ+. Whether single or partnered, homeownership has become a top priority for African American millennials across the country, and Atlanta is no exception. An increase in sales fueled by the global pandemic has made the once elusive goal of owning a home a reality for many who had previously given up on this aspect of The American Dream.

Prentiss Matthews III is a playwright, director, actor, and singer who made quite an impression after we met a few months back. I wanted to learn more about his work, artistic vision, and his approach to his craft. He graciously agreed to sit down and chat with me. Here is what we discussed.

Just as it took a process of time, reading, living, and loving to come to a state of radically loving my Blackness and my gay identity, so is it to accept this body and all that comes with it. It has been a process assisted by the words of folks like Gay and Renee, Black feminists who know something about what it means for the world to tell you that you’re undesirable. I desperately needed their help, having not always been a size 46 in the waist. It has taken more than a decade to relax into this identity of “bear” and have it become a comfy fit (and, yes, I’ve heard the concerned Black gay nationalist arguments of adopting yet more white gay cultural language by using terms like “bear,” but I can’t really embrace the term “boy” at a smooth and grown 43-years-old in any context, even one intended to be culturally affirming).

I lacked the bravery and carefreeness displayed by hundreds of cubs, bears, chubs, superchubs, otters, and chaser brethren who confidently splashed, played, and luxuriated in the Orlando heat over the four official days of the Eighth Annual Big Boy Pride at the Parliament House pool. The privilege of standing bare-chested in the sun, in the sparkling chlorine water, or just outside in a public space before the caressing or judging eyes of others is something Black men of size seldom can take for granted, particularly not gay men of size, trained to be particularly attuned to the harsh judgement of the male gaze.

The first time Lauryn canceled on me, she had a legitimate excuse. I was in the middle of my junior year of Montclair High. The African American Awareness Club’s faculty advisor had a connection to Lauryn’s family, and had arranged for her to attend a meeting one afternoon.