The only thing weightier than the scent of fat meat and humidity were the hearts of a family in despair. As I typed these words, I knew I had entered dangerous territory; I had broken a Black family cardinal rule: silence.
Growing up, the only thing I ever got in trouble for was talking. I even talked about getting in trouble for talking about not talking. "Cheryl asked me what you and I talked about and I told her I couldn't tell. But, don't tell her I told you she asked, okay?" This was a recurring discussion between myself and childhood therapists. It is also what I believe to be the catalyst to my obsession with speaking about life and the subsequent creation of outlets for such speech: imaginary friends, writing, and art. I discovered a loophole; a way to speak without talking.
This brings me to where I am today, ambivalent and perhaps even afraid; as I put the finishing touches on the intro to a series of tell all tales. My inner child, Fear, has me by the throat firmly yet tentatively as she asks, "Are you sure about this, are we going to get in trouble"? As a child, I couldn't wait to become an adult so that I could do whatever I wanted. As an adult, I can- in no uncertain terms, be stopped by the same child. So with resolve, I swallow and continue to type.
Peace and courage