I Wanted To Be A Writer. I

In All My Stories And Novels, No One Ever Escapes Louisiana. Maybe That Is Because My Soul Never Left Louisiana, Although My Body Did Go To California.

Now, About That Mulatto Teacher And Me. There Was No Love There For Each Other. There Was Not Even Respect. We Were Enemies If Anything. He Hated Me, And I Knew It, And He Knew I Knew It. I Didn't Like Him, But I Needed Him, Needed Him To Tell Me Something That None Of The Others Could Or Would.

I Was Raised By A Lady That Was Crippled All Her Life But She Did Everything For Me And She Raised Me. She Washed Our Clothes, Cooked Our Food, She Did Everything For Us. I Don't Think I Ever Heard Her Complain A Day In Her Life. She Taught Me Responsibility Towards My Brother And Sisters And The Community.

I Wanted To Be A Writer. I Wanted To Say Something About Home.

Only When The Mind Is Free Has The Body A Chance To Be Free. Yes, They Must Believe, They Must Believe. Because I Know What It Means To Be A Slave. I Am A Slave.