I really like to read. And last night I did just that. A whole book’s-worth, in fact. As I’m generally reading sporty things or true-crime novels, my auntie’s vast library of real-life books was calling to me to pick one up. The one I chose was one I’d had suggested to me more than once - The Help.
It made me think back a few generations to my farming family that was not from the south, but who grew up in all white Nebraska towns (and most certainly influenced my late grandfather’s stark racism). Made me think about what having ‘help’ would have been like and what that feeling of entitlement over another human being could do to mold people’s character for the worse.
It made me cry for the hundreds and thousands of people that were ‘freed’ from slavery only to be living as modern-day slaves during the civil rights movement. Made me sad to realize there are some people who still view the world through those unintegrated eyes and ideology.
Made me want to believe this mantra applied to me, too. “You is kind. You is smart. You is important”.
