Haunting # 1: The Irony

     Looking back on what happened years after the fact, I can see that this event has irony written all over it. I understand that my mother did everything that she did that night ( the yelling, the threats, the insults, whipping out the Bible and that dictionary, carrying on until four in the morning, etc) in an attempt to scare me out of embarking on my quest for truth and enlightenment. She was trying to intimidate me out of aspiring to be more than just your average black female and back into following the negro programming.
That much is obvious. Here’s that irony I was talking about earlier: my mother’s behavior had quite the opposite effect. I made me even more determined to make this long and difficult journey that is really paying off nowadays. Such a display of irrationality caused me to become even more dead set on learning everything I wasn’t “supposed” to know. This event is where my desire to be nothing like my own mother originated. I never wanted to live my life blinded by fear and ignorance. It was on that night that I dedicated my life to finding a way out of the stiflingly small realm of non-thought and belief that black people are so eager to keep each other relegated to. With kin and kind like this, who needs the white man? Am I right?
And so now, I can say with absolute certainty that I have broken through that little black box. How else could I write about stuff like this in the way that I do? At times it can seem like blind luck that I made it out while so many other people seem to keep getting sucked deeper into it. Maybe they can’t leave. Perhaps they don’t even know that they are trapped in a mental lockbox of willful ignorance. I think that the only difference between me and them is that I ASKED to leave and then began to actively search for a way out.

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