It Was The First Time I'd Ever

The Redness Had Seeped From The Day And Night Was Arranging Herself Around Us. Cooling Things Down, Staining And Dyeing The Evening Purple And Blue Black.

The Awakening Passed From Simple Recognition Of My Need For God At The Center Of My Life, To A Depth Where The Will Is Stirred And That Is A Deeper Place By Far. That Is The Place Of Response, Of Unifying One's Heart, Mind, Soul And Feet Around A Decision.

"why Is It Sports Is The Only Thing White People See Us Being Successful At? I Don't Want To Play Football," He Said. "i Wanna Be A Lawyer." "that's Fine With Me," I Said, A Little Annoyed. "i've Just Never Heard Of A Negro Lawyer, That's All. You've Got To Hear Of These Things Before You Can Imagine Them." "bullshit. You Gotta Imagine What's Never Been."

This Is The Autumn Of Wonders, Yet Every Day, Every Single Day, I Go Back To That Burned Afternoon In August When T. Ray Left. I Go Back To That One Moment When I Stood In The Driveway With Small Rocks And Clumps Of Dirt Around My Feet And Looked Back At The Porch. And There They Were. All These Mothers. I Have More Mothers Than Any Eight Girls Off The Street. They Are The Moons Shining Over Me.

I Think Many People Need, Even Require, A Narrative Version Of Their Life. I Seem To Be One Of Them. Writing Memoir Is, In Some Ways, A Work Of Wholeness.