That was the day my whole world went black. Air looked black. Sun looked black. I laid up in bed and stared at the black walls of my house….Took three months before I even looked out the window, see the world still there. I was surprised to see the world didn’t stop.
Down in the national news section, there's an article on a new pill, the 'Valium' they're calling it, 'to help women cope with everyday challenges.' God, I could use about ten of those little pills right now.
This woman talk like she from so deep in the country she got corn growing in her shoes.
And why? Because they are suffocating within the lines that define their town and their times. And sometimes lines are made to be crossed.
...and that's when I get to wondering, what would happen if I told her she something good, ever day?
I reckon that’s the risk you run, letting somebody else raise you chilluns.
Oh, it was delicious to have someone to keep secrets with. If I'd had a sister or a brother closer in age, I guessed that's what it would be like. But it wasn't just smoking or skirting around Mother. It was having someone look at you after your mother has nearly fretted herself to death because you are freakishly tall and frizzy and odd. Someone whose eyes simply said, without words, You are fine with me.
Ugly live up on the inside. Ugly be a hurtful, mean person.
I'm sorry, but were you dropped on your head as an infant?
....we ain't doing civil rights here. We just telling stories like they really happen.
I want to yell so loud that Baby Girl can hear me that dirty ain't a color, disease ain't the Negro side a town. I want to stop that moment from coming - and it come in ever white child's life - when they start to think that colored folks ain't as good as whites. ... I pray that wasn't her moment, Pray I still got time.
She's wearing a tight red sweater and a red skirt and enough makeup to scare a hooker.
No one tells us, girls who don't go on dates, that remembering can be almost as good as what actually happens.
Rule Number One for working for a white lady, Minny: it is nobody’s business. You keep your nose out of your White Lady’s problems, you don’t go crying to her with yours—you can’t pay the light bill? Your feet are too sore? Remember one thing: white people are not your friends. They don’t want to hear about it. And when Miss White Lady catches her man with the lady next door, you keep out of it, you hear me?
I was born in Jackson, Mississippi, in 1969, in a time and place where no one was saying, Look how far weve come, because we hadnt come very far, to say the least. Although Jacksons population was half white and half black, I didnt have a single black friend or a black neighbor or even a black person in my school.
Bosoms are for bedrooms and breastfeeding.
That's the way prayer do. It's like electricity, it keeps things going.
I'm tired of the rules," I say.
I have decided not to die.
I hear Raleigh's new accounting business isn't doing well. Maybe up in New York or somewhere it's a good thing, but in Jackson, Mississippi, people just don't care to do business with a rude, condescending asshole.
They say it's like true love, good help. you only get one in a lifetime.....there is so much you don't know about a person. i wonder if i could've made her days a little bit easier, if I'd tried. if i'd treated her a little nicer.
They say it's like true love, good help. You only get one in a lifetime.
I do wish that people talked about the subject of race, especially in the South.
Im a Southerner - I never take satisfaction in touching a nerve.
Some readers tell me, 'We always treated our maid like she was a member of the family.' You know, that's interesting, but I wonder what your maid's perspective was on that.
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