Any Writer Worth His Salt Writes To

Summer Was Our Best Season: It Was Sleeping On The Back Screeneed Porch In Cots, Or Trying To Sleep In The Treehouse; Summer Was Everything Good To Eat;it Was A Thousand Colors In A Parched Landscape.

As You Grow Older, You'll See White Men Cheat Black Men Every Day Of Your Life, But Let Me Tell You Something And Don't You Forget It - Whenever A White Man Does That To A Black Man, No Matter Who He Is, How Rich He Is, Or How Fine A Family He Comes From, He Is Trash.

Now That I Was Compelled To Think About It, Reading Was Something That Just Came To Me, As Learning To Fasten The Seat Of My Union Suit Without Looking Around, Or Achieving Two Bows From A Snarl Of Shoelaces.

Next Morning I Awoke, Looked Out The Window And Nearly Died Of Fright. My Screams Brought Atticus From His Bathroom Half-shaven. "the World's Endin', Atticus! Please Do Something -!" I Dragged Him To The Window And Pointed. "no It's Not," He Said. "it's Snowing.

Simply Because We Were Licked A Hundred Years Before We Started Is No Reason For Us Not To Try To Win.