Read Online Boaz Brown by Michelle Stimpson - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Michelle Stimpson
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freedom and civil rights, the first to be able to live out my dreams with the law on my side.
With my justifications for prejudice still fresh on my mind, I closed my Bible and got back on my knees to have a little talk with Jesus. What, exactly, was He asking me to do? Was He asking me to ignore all the facts? Was He asking me to forget about the cause of black equality? Did He expect me to just put down my guard when dealing with people who I felt, collectively, intended to remain on top by keeping others down? Was I supposed to make friends with whites and Hispanics and every other type of person on the globe?
And what of blackness itself—the pride, the attitude that came with my heritage? I liked black things—Juneteenth, Essence magazine, hips, our sororities and fraternities, our churches, and those little shirts we used to wear that read: It’s a black thing—you wouldn’t understand. I paid my NAACP dues, and I was committed to making sure that every child in my church got the help they needed to be successful in school. So what if those kids happened to be black? I’m black. I wanted to help my own.
Truly, this thing in my spirit was an assault on my fabric. I prayed my own words and ended the conversation. I left my prayer closet that night without any answers, only a conviction that I did not feel was a fair one, given the history of the very land I stood on.
Chapter 5
When Jonathan announced his intent to enlist in the navy, Momma was a little frightened—as any mother would be. But my parents were in no position to turn around and put a second child through college. They had already taken out several loans to pay for my education, and it was no secret that Daddy postponed his retirement to make sure I finished school without owing anything. Initially, Jonathan went into the military so that he could see the world and get a free college education. As it turned out, he enjoyed military life so much, he reenlisted for another four years. This time he was off to Germany indefinitely.
Momma had that first, awkward-looking military photo hung high above the mantel. I don’t know what they do to those soldiers just before snapping that first military picture, but those people always look starved, worn out, and homesick. Jonathan was no exception. I almost cried when I saw my brother in that photo. Momma did cry.
“Stop all that cryin’, girl. They just makin’ a man out of him,” Daddy said proudly.
“That was your job!” Momma yelled. Then they got into it again about how they would have had enough money to put us both through college if Momma wasn’t giving so much money to the church or if Daddy would stop playing the lottery. Let them tell it, they would have been billionaires if only the other one hadn’t been doing this or that.
They did, however, agree that Jonathan needed to remember at all times that he was black. The day before Jonathan left, Daddy sat him down and had a long talk with him. I heard the whole thing from the living room. Jonathan was told, in no uncertain terms, that he was not, under any circumstances, to come home with any woman who was anything other than black.
“I don’t care what you see going on around you. I don’t care what a white or Korean or whatever girl says to you, you remember—if she can’t use your comb, don’t bring her home!” Daddy told him with conviction.
“You know your great-uncle Eddie George got killed behind a white girl,” Daddy said. “And he was the only uncle I had on my momma’s side.”
Momma was washing the dishes, yet managed to butt in the conversation. “Eddie George got killed ‘cause he was messin’ with a married woman.”
“She was white!” Daddy yelled. “If she woulda been a black woman, my uncle woulda been alive today.”
“He woulda been a hundred and ten years old!” I yelled from the couch.
Daddy wasn’t having it
With my justifications for prejudice still fresh on my mind, I closed my Bible and got back on my knees to have a little talk with Jesus. What, exactly, was He asking me to do? Was He asking me to ignore all the facts? Was He asking me to forget about the cause of black equality? Did He expect me to just put down my guard when dealing with people who I felt, collectively, intended to remain on top by keeping others down? Was I supposed to make friends with whites and Hispanics and every other type of person on the globe?
And what of blackness itself—the pride, the attitude that came with my heritage? I liked black things—Juneteenth, Essence magazine, hips, our sororities and fraternities, our churches, and those little shirts we used to wear that read: It’s a black thing—you wouldn’t understand. I paid my NAACP dues, and I was committed to making sure that every child in my church got the help they needed to be successful in school. So what if those kids happened to be black? I’m black. I wanted to help my own.
Truly, this thing in my spirit was an assault on my fabric. I prayed my own words and ended the conversation. I left my prayer closet that night without any answers, only a conviction that I did not feel was a fair one, given the history of the very land I stood on.
Chapter 5
When Jonathan announced his intent to enlist in the navy, Momma was a little frightened—as any mother would be. But my parents were in no position to turn around and put a second child through college. They had already taken out several loans to pay for my education, and it was no secret that Daddy postponed his retirement to make sure I finished school without owing anything. Initially, Jonathan went into the military so that he could see the world and get a free college education. As it turned out, he enjoyed military life so much, he reenlisted for another four years. This time he was off to Germany indefinitely.
Momma had that first, awkward-looking military photo hung high above the mantel. I don’t know what they do to those soldiers just before snapping that first military picture, but those people always look starved, worn out, and homesick. Jonathan was no exception. I almost cried when I saw my brother in that photo. Momma did cry.
“Stop all that cryin’, girl. They just makin’ a man out of him,” Daddy said proudly.
“That was your job!” Momma yelled. Then they got into it again about how they would have had enough money to put us both through college if Momma wasn’t giving so much money to the church or if Daddy would stop playing the lottery. Let them tell it, they would have been billionaires if only the other one hadn’t been doing this or that.
They did, however, agree that Jonathan needed to remember at all times that he was black. The day before Jonathan left, Daddy sat him down and had a long talk with him. I heard the whole thing from the living room. Jonathan was told, in no uncertain terms, that he was not, under any circumstances, to come home with any woman who was anything other than black.
“I don’t care what you see going on around you. I don’t care what a white or Korean or whatever girl says to you, you remember—if she can’t use your comb, don’t bring her home!” Daddy told him with conviction.
“You know your great-uncle Eddie George got killed behind a white girl,” Daddy said. “And he was the only uncle I had on my momma’s side.”
Momma was washing the dishes, yet managed to butt in the conversation. “Eddie George got killed ‘cause he was messin’ with a married woman.”
“She was white!” Daddy yelled. “If she woulda been a black woman, my uncle woulda been alive today.”
“He woulda been a hundred and ten years old!” I yelled from the couch.
Daddy wasn’t having it
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