...but I'M NOT BLACK!

As an aspiring writer I have been greatly taken up with rejection letters and new writing projects. So on Saturday I decided to step back from it all, look around and see what other writers in my city are doing. In celebration of Black History Month, I found one children's author reading her books at the Public Library. I expect to conduct author visits myself, so I went to see a real professional in action. It was great! Lots of children were there. They came in a variety of shades. Black, white and otherwise. The author opened up her reading with an interactive song. The children danced and sang. The joy of goofiness and delight was on each face. Then the author stated her purpose for visiting the library and sharing with the children. She explained that her presentation was in celebration of heritage and Black History Month. Instantly, a little boy about 4 years old raises his flailing hand. He wants very much to say something to the author. She asks him to speak and he matter-of-factly responds, "but I'm not black!" So the little boy was not black as the color of a piano key. But his racial identify by virture of his very present mama and daddy, was black. The little boy extended his two tanned arms. "I'm white! See!" All the grown folk and the children laughed. His parents laughed too. No doubt they would hold that family discussion during the drive home. The author giggled. She responded with an "OK!" And moved on to read her book. It was an awkward, innocent moment. As an aspiring literary figure, it is a moment that gave me clarity. I make a new declaration today. Whatever I write should be composed with purpose. Be it humorous or dramatic and wrenching, all of my words should ultimately...inspire appreciation, pride and love for self. From this very moment, I dedicate all my writing talents to a little boy named DJ. May you never be ashamed, NEVER!

Chink Eyes

A creative mind is a terrible thing to waste. I refuse to let mine atrophy like a paralyzed muscle. So as I wait on a book deal for WALKING THE DOG, I am giving birth to new books. I thought of creating a super hero for middle schoolers. Then SOMETHING (old folks call it the Holy Ghost) led me to an idea for a Young Adult Novel. The working title is called, CHINK EYES. I would tell you the plot but it is yet whole. All the involved storylines are working themselves out in the recesses of my mind. I will however share the first several sentences....My name is Giselle Dawn Parker. I am my mother's namesake. I am my father's greatest regret. He does not love me. He did not love my mother. Rejected and denied for three years, she gave Bertram Lee her body under the cover of night. In motel rooms. In the back seat of his brand new red Trans AM. Nobody saw. But everybody knew. My mother, Giselle Dawn Parker was in love with Coach Lee. It all started when she was seventeen. A senior at Tech High. Mother was a local track star with Olympic promise. Bertram Lee was tweny-five. The son of Wong and Juanita Lee. Three generations removed from a Chinese Laundry in Cleveland Mississippi. Six generations removed from an unknown slave plantation. Bertram Lee. Sun-kissed. Curly black hair. Six feet tall. A power point guard. State basketball champion. But my father was not good enough to go pro. So he took advantage of college. Earned a degree in physical education and graduated from Tennessee State. As years go and I grow into my own me, I write my history down. No matter how much it hurts, I listen to Cousin Noble's slurred speech and the evidence found during his "detective work". I write down everything. I let George-Wallace and Anthoni Cleopatra tell me about life with my mother just like they remember it. Her story is my story and it's not all black and white or gray. My story is yellow, tan and brown. To keep from going crazy, I tell it to my friends. I talk it out. I can't let rejection kill me, like it did my mother. I have to release and let go of the pain. I have to express my truth. Sometimes I have to shout. I wish my father loved me! Brown skin, long legs, kinky hair, chink eyes and all. I wish my father loved me. Please share your thoughts. Where do you think this story is headed? I suspect it will be a tale of cowardice, courage and redemption.