The Book of Wisdom

Harriet Beecher Stowe There was a season in my life that enabled me to take a small glimpse into who I am. Although it may have been many years, the season is still with me. I can vaguely remember the bookshelf in our houses, and there were a few, as my parents always attempted to upgrade our living standards by moving to better housing. On one occasion, the move was quite ominous as our house burned down. I was about five years old. After this calamity, we were blessed by white people that came to our rescue. The Burn I can go down a rabbit hole and start telling stories about the things that we were blessed to receive after our house was burned to the ground and ALL our worldly possessions were destroyed. The incident was horrifying; however, the results were quite enlightening. White people for whom my mother worked for many years were wealthy in comparison to us, and it was apparent. They came in pickup trucks loaded with items I had never seen before. We were accustomed to using an ice box but experienced a refrigerator thanks to their kindness. I will never forget that refrigerator, as the cooling elements were on top. We were adorned with clothing that were their discards but were something very new to us. I wore only brogans and overhauls but after the fire I was now adorned with slacks and penny loafers. I felt like a new person. My little brother said, “Maybe we should burn our house down again.”  His statement infuriated my mother. My mother loved those people for whom she worked for fifty years, and they seemed to love her also.  My Mother was so sweet. This turn of events changed my opinion about white folks. My father was half Creek, and my grandmother, who was totally Creek Native American, had painted a vivid picture of white people in my father’s head that somewhat also incorrectly affected my thinking until I learned to decipher the good from the bad and ugly. The Bookcase Now our house was filled with goodies with which we were unfamiliar. I remember a wooden bookcase that was given to us. At that time, we possessed only one book, the Holy Bible, which contained just about everything that we possessed that linked us to the past. Later, we found a copy of Uncle Tom’s Cabin and the Autobiography of Benjamin, which were a mix of things donated to us. Later, our bookshelf was adorned with other reading materials, such as Ebony Magazine, Jet, and copies of The Pittsburgh Courier. I remember begging my parents to buy me a set of Encyclopedia Brittanicas by the time I was twelve. I had heard someone say that if one reads all the volumes of the Encyclopedia Brittanica, they would be the most knowledgeable person on Earth. I had to have them. I do not know how, considering our meager budget, but it really happened. Daddy and Mother must have reached deep to buy them for me. I went crazy reading them until I had read everyone without missing even one word. Words that I did not understand were looked up in my neighbors dictionary. Later Daddy purchase one for me. I wanted to be like the white people and have a lot of things. This was my reasoning for desiring more things to read. My father could read very fast. He always amazed me when he rubbed his fingers across the Charleston Gazette and Charleston Daily Mail every morning, reading both papers within an hour. He always subscribed to both. I would always be in disbelief, and from time to time, I would query him about different subject matter that he had read to ascertain if he was telling the truth about his reading so fast. He always provided me with the correct answer.   I did not realize until after he died for many years that he was speed reading, something that I never accomplished.  Nonetheless, I thought that I had figured out how white people were so bright they read books. This created a conflict in my head, because I had read the entire set of Enclopedia Britanicas but nothing happened. I then thought about how fast that my father could read, but he did not have a lot of money. This somewhat discouraged me about reading, as I expected more. Later, however, after integrating into the schools with white people after Brown vs Boad of Education when I was about twelve, I discovered that I was not as dumb as I believed. In fact, I started to belive that I was smarter than others. This made me very happy. Uncle Tom Cabin My father had implanted horrific images in my head about slavery. I was somewhat removed from that place by at least one generation; therefore, slavery was not really my thing. I halfway believed what my father told me about it because my mother’s stories about her grandmother’s experience somewhat diluted things expressed by my father. Furthermore, I had not read about slavery being as daddy described it- in the Enclopedia Britanicas. I was always on the horns of a dilemma. I began reading the book Uncle Tom’s Cabin, and slavery became more stressful for me. It taught me something that some may not have gleaned. Most black people envisioned Uncle Tom in the book Uncle Tom’s Cabin as a feeble person who obeyed his master without question. Most were unable to read the book to its end. Tom’s loyalty to his master was disgusting to most. I felt the same way about Tom up until the last chapter of the book. I managed to read the book until its end. Tom was put to the test. His master demanded that Tom tell him the location of the runaway slaves seeking freedom. Tom’s master told Tom that if he did not disclose the location of these slaves, he would be killed. At this point, I wondered how people could be so kind to us and provide us with many material objects, some of which we could not imagine that were serving a God that would cause so much pain to others. This is when I started to question just about everything. I had difficulty understanding religion at this juncture, even at a very early age. Tom explained it to me at the end of the book Uncle Tom’s Cabin when he uttered these words. I got it. Tom suddenly stretched himself up, looking earnestly to heaven, while the tears and blood flowing down his face mingled, he exclaimed. “No! No! No! my soul ain’t yours, Mas’r!” His master murdered Tom.  This made me think. Are there more than one? Throughout the entire book, Tom is a devoted Christian. He can quote words from the bible verbatim and appears to believe every word. Tom’s master tries every trick in the book to make Tom tell him the location of the runaway slaves. What other God did Tom believe his soul belonged to? Were there two? I don’t think so. Tom was unaware of it, but he was programmed to know the real God from birth. This God was programmed in his genes from birth and could never be erased. This is when I realized that this God is in our hearts, as also believed by our ancestors from far and near. We cannot accept the words of humans exclusively. Humans are corrupt and deceitful. They will write and speak words exclusively to support narratives that are not beneficial for all. We Know Who They Are I wish not to call names, but I am sure most understand to whom I am referring. It’s obvious. They have indulged in conduct that defiles them. They have attempted to deceive their people for greed, wealth, and control, not knowing that the control that they were seeking did not belong to them. They may have learned the hard way. I still have hope, however. Just like Tom, when push comes to shove and they are truly tested, will they be as honorable as Tom? They may be bewildered at this juncture as they have not been chosen as part of the team after so much humiliation. Soon, they will discover that the person they trust has also read the book Uncle Tom’s Cabin. They also know the end of the story. This is precisely why they have not been chosen as part of an administration designed to devour them. This is why it is so crucial for one to know oneself. I was raised by coincidence to see that people are different. Some are good, some bad, and others very ugly. The bad and ugly must be separated from the good. Some are unfamiliar with these things, and know not that they know not. Join those who do.