Thresholds

I have a book I haven’t read yet. It’s a special one, and I know that when I dive in, I won’t resurface until I finish it, and I’ll be different when I do. I know this book is going to change my perspective, possibly even the way I think. I’m looking forward to it, but here’s the rub: I want assurances of being able to exist fully within this text; I want to embody it the way I do its parent text, Huck Finn.

I’m looking forward to Precival Everett’s portrayal of one of the most quietly strong characters in all of American literature, Jim on his quest for freedom with a little runaway cracker.

I expect to cry, no, bawl as I read the story from Jim’s perspective. I’m especially drawn to the truth of Jim versus his appearance to all those fine white folks who thought they were better than him. I have a personal connection to that experience, though I don’t presume that I’ve felt more than an outer band of the hurricane experience it must be to be Black in the United States.

Don’t be fooled by claims that the Confederate flag is important heritage. It isn’t. It’s the banner of failed revolutionaries hell-bent on destroying this nation to protect their exploitive, luxurious lifestyle built on the blood, sweat, and tears of people who did as they were told or else. Put the damn thing in a museum exhibit and be done with it.

I was raised racist. Thank God it didn’t take. I wasn’t able to play at some friends’ houses, nor could I invite them to mine. The first time I had sex with a Black man, I felt like I was doing something wrong. And he was Caribbean, from Barbados, instead of African Amaerican. He was a renowned poet and the had most beautiful lilting cadence to his speech. I may be taking the escalator down when I leave this earth, but I don’t expect that to even figure into the equation.

The book that truly broke me was Frederick Douglass’s Autobiography of an American Slave, written by himself. I can’t begin to explain how that book affected me except to say I’m thankful.

I expect this one to break me the same way. I had planned to spend Mother’s Day reading it to take my mind off how abusive my daughter is to me. The book was a gift from her father, and he was the only one allowed to wish me a happy Mother’s Day this year. I may or may not write a review of it when I finish—I may need to sit with it and let it resonate before I speak about it. I honestly have no idea what this book will do to me, but I know it needs to happen.